Fear
by MissScorp
Summary: Jonathan Crane's motivation isn't like the rest of Batman's elite. He isn't after money, power or revenge. He's not compelled by things like love. He's obsessed with one thing: Fear. It makes him Batman's second deadliest foe for that very reason. Especially since he will stop at nothing to get his hands on both the formula for a new behavioral agent and Arkham's newest doctor.
1. Chapter 1

_It is truly a remarkable evening_ , thought Alfred Pennyworth as he maneuvered the huge Rolls-Royce off the expressway onto a crowded off-ramp. It was the last weekend of October, and Gotham was bedecked in a glorious array of fall colors and spooky decorations.

The trees were brilliant, their foliage varying shades of crimson, gold, pumpkin, indigo and brown. Other rich shades gave the city a lush vibrancy the butler knew would be sullied once Jack Frost returned from his summer vacation. The evening air was brisk and invigorating while the sky above was sprinkled with a handful of stars.

 _Yes, it is a spectacular fall evening_ , he thought as he drew to a stop behind a white delivery van. _Perfectly suited for dancing at a lavish gala instead of pattering around atop Gotham's rooftops_. Not that the man seated in the backseat would agree. Alfred tutted softly as he waited for the light to turn green.

Halloween always brought out at least _one_ of the city's super-villains.

Last year it had been Poison Ivy trying to overtake Gotham with a bounty of man-eating plants and poisonous vines designed to turn people into her hapless puppets.

The year before had seen the Joker hosting a diabolical carnival that nearly claimed the lives of Commissioner Gordon, Miss Stephanie, and Master Timothy. He didn't dare stop to consider which of Batman's many enemies might have something suitably evil planned for this year's festivities.

The police scanner in the center section of the backseat screamed to life. That was also not a major surprise. The frequency that radio perpetually was set upon was one he learned long ago was hardly ever quiet.

Crime never slept. Least of all in a city that was perpetually dominated by violence like Gotham was. When Gotham was quiet was when the city was at its most dangerous.

" _I need all available units to respond to a disturbance at City Hall."_

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat may have been soft and refined, but it was coated in velvet steel.

"Turn right onto Baltic Avenue, Alfred. And stop near the alley by the old doll-makers shop."

That Batman had become a necessity was something Alfred had long ago come to terms with. Still, it didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Or that he couldn't lament over it. Or wish even that his employer could have more out of life.

"As you wish, Master Bruce."

He missed the flash of white that briefly broke the murky shadows encasing the man in the backseat from his view. If he had, he may have found comfort in the fact that his employer had not _completely_ lost his sense of humor.

"And Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I suggest stepping on it."

Alfred glanced at his employer in the rearview mirror, saw those eyes that so reminded him of his late mother's in the swirl of darkness.

"Of course, sir."

He did not need to glance in the rear-view mirror to see what his employer was doing in the backseat. He knew what was transpiring in those cramped quarters. Master Bruce had become quite adept in the years since he started his nocturnal career at divesting himself of his business suits or formal evening wear and quickly donning his _other_ work outfit.

If not for the fact that he was dressing in a scalloped cape and pointy-eared cowl, he'd have been rather impressed with his employer's dexterity. Heroes in other cities relied on phone booths, elevators or revolving doors to shift from their public to private personas.

That he so blithely accepted that this was Master Bruce's chosen lifestyle did manage to occasionally take him by surprise still. He had really become quite sanguine about the affair now that he thought about it. If it was his way of coping, he couldn't say. Not that it would have mattered. He would do whatever he felt necessary.

Traffic, even despite it being a busy time of the evening, was almost non-existent in this section of Gotham. Baltic Avenue was where the East End's seedier district began. It was a one-way street, too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions, and filled on both sides with shops that had either been fronts for the mob or covers for darker, more unseemly business dealings.

"Please deliver my regrets to Ernest, Alfred, and tell him that I will make up for my absence with a sizable donation to his charities fund. I'm confident you will handle everything with your usual tact and grace."

"Shall I tell Mr. Harcourt the usual then?" he asked as he turned the engine off. "That you have been regrettably detained and extend your sincerest apologies for your abrupt cancellation?"

"What lovely young woman are you planning to have me give my undivided attention tonight?"

There was a strong hint of laughter in that velvet baritone now. Alfred checked to make sure he still had a pulse before he replied.

"I was thinking of saying it was Master Richard who had your attention for this evening." He looked pointedly in the rearview mirror. "His moving back into the Manor is a much more _honest_ lie than some of those I have had to give over the years." He swore he saw a smile but dared not trust it was real. "Perhaps you would prefer me to say that you have chosen to take the entire theater group to dinner in Metropolis, instead?"

There was a discreet cough from the backseat that may have passed for a laugh. Given how his employer infrequently engaged in any sort of joviality, however, the butler couldn't be sure of his interpretation of the sound. Yet, it eased some of the anxiety plaguing him since the evening before.

Sirens starting to bleat in the distance caused that concern to return tenfold, however. Alfred glanced out the front glass and flinched when he spied a familiar spotlight shining a bat symbol high up into the night sky.

Clearly, whoever had turned that spotlight on was trying to contact Batman because they needed his help. No matter how he felt about it, he would have to point out the beacon to Master Bruce.

There'd be no living with him if he didn't.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Someone has turned on the Bat-Signal."

Alfred heard the slight sound that his employer made deep in his throat.

"That's coming from the roof of the old GCPD building."

The butler swallowed his sigh. "Do you think someone is trying to contact you?"

"I think it could be Gordon trying to make contact with me, actually."

That had Alfred's eyebrows feathering up.

"Why would Commissioner Gordon be calling for Batman from the old GCPD building rather than the new one?" He saw Bruce glance up, that very same question swirling in the depths of his eyes. "Forgive me for saying so, Master Bruce, but it could well be a trap."

"I don't think it is a trap, Alfred." The butler heard armor being snapped into place. "I think he is calling me because he needs my help."

"Wouldn't he contact you by telephone if things were truly that dire, sir?"

"He would call me on the private line if things were that bad, yes," Bruce replied. "Unless communication lines have somehow become compromised. Or unless..." he trailed off into a long sigh.

"Unless he asked someone else to call for you?" Alfred spoke gently. He knew a wealth of bad memories were swimming around inside Bruce's head at that moment. "Is that what you meant to say?"

"Yes," came his dark reply. "That is why I am going to go to the GCPD building. I want to check things out and make sure that all is as it should be."

Alfred heard the snap of material as it was unfurled and imagined Bruce swirling the cape around his broad shoulders in much the same way Tyrone Powers did when dressing as Zorro. It broke his heart that his employer was donning a cape and mask to run around Gotham instead of joining in at a society fundraiser where the chance was good that he'd have himself a good time.

Alfred just sighed before saying to his employer, "Do be careful, Master Bruce. You have not fully recuperated from Bane's vicious attack. And you have admitted that you do not know just who it is that could be trying to contact you."

"I know this could be a trap, Alfred," Bruce replied. "I plan on being the one who springs it." He heard the back door open then, felt the brief chill that snaked its way through the luxury car against the back of his neck. "Get back to the cave as soon as you can," he heard his employer rasp in that voice he used when he was his alter ego. "I might need your help in dealing with whatever it is that this person could want or need."

"I shall do my very best, sir."

Then the door closed and that figure quickly became swallowed up by the shadows lurking in that dark alley. Alfred released another breath, waited barely a moment, and then drove off. At the end of the block, he turned left onto Thorndyke Boulevard, which, if memory served him correctly, would take him back to the Expressway.

He caught one last glimpse of that Bat-signal from the corner of his eye and felt a pull deep in his belly he recognized as either trepidation or fear.

 _Do be mindful, Master Bruce_ , he thought as he turned right onto the Expressway. _There are any number of your enemies who would dearly love to put Batman out of commission.  
_  
And there were none, he knew, who were more dangerous than the man his employer had only just brought to justice a few weeks before: the Joker.

 _Please, don't let it be that monster_ , was his last thought as he accelerated and embarked upon his short trek back to Wayne Manor.

...

Batman quickly made his way down an alleyway, passing a homeless man asleep in the doorway of an old baker's shop, his cape floating behind him. The streets of this part of Gotham rivaled those of London or Paris in their size and complexity.

They – as well as the cities rooftops – were the quickest and fastest way to get from one part of the city to the other. He moved swiftly, dodging the mounds of rotting garbage and stinking refuse strewn along the slick cobblestone.

The stench no longer bothered him. He had long become accustomed to the sights and smells of the city he chose to serve and protect. Plus, he learned to dab a little touch of mentholated salve beneath his nostrils after watching some coroners and forensic investigators work upon cadavers.

The darkness in this part of Gotham was nearly total, but his footing was sure and his memory of the twists and bends, long.

He reached for the grapnel gun attached to his belt a second before he vaulted a rusted metal gate separating two alleyways. He was airborne less than a second later, the dark and seedy underworld nothing but a blur beneath him.

Two minutes later he was pulling himself onto a gargoyle overlooking the GCPD helipad. As he studied the figure pacing in front of the spotlight he went over the list of potential candidates the detective could be calling him about.

Where was Harvey Dent? Was he back in Arkham or had he managed to secure another early release? For that matter, were Pamela Isley, Jervis Tetch and Victor Fries still securely locked away in their specially crafted cells in Arkham's Intensive Treatment wing? What about Oswald Cobblepot? Had he managed to wheedle a way out of a transfer to the asylum? It was possible. Cobblepot was notoriously resourceful and had plenty of financial influence over many of those at City Hall.

What crimes had occurred linked back to any of those rogues he was thinking about? Nothing Jim had brought to his attention fit any of the usual modus operandi of those he listed. There was no rule of two, floral toxins, cryogenics, Alice in Wonderland or bird themes involved.

The majority of the rogues he hunted down adhered pretty religiously to the standards and fixations that had earned them their colorful monikers. Over the years he learned, through a process of deductive reasoning, how to make the connections, to figure out which one could potentially be involved in what crime. That each one was still incarcerated meant little. All had escaped before and would happily do so again if the opportunity presented itself.

With the exception of Cobblepot and Dent, who did things mainly for the financial gain it afforded them, the motivation for the rest of his list was their own personal agendas. Unless there was a threat to the environment, a possible cure or a girl who looked like Alice, it didn't seem likely Ivy, Freeze or Hatter were possibly involved.

That left only one other candidate whose particular madness couldn't be contained. One monster who enjoyed killing, torturing, and terrorizing for the sheer, sick pleasure of it.

 _The Joker._

The name alone caused his belly to clench. _If he's managed to escape from Arkham again_ …

Another sigh sounded. He glanced down and watched as the detective did another turn in front of the spotlight. The need for speculation was over. It was time to find out exactly why it was that he'd been called here. He dropped down to the ground without a sound and slowly made his way towards the young man pacing like a restless cat in front of that spotlight.

…

Detective Ethan Tate had been pacing on the roof of police headquarters for about five minutes when he saw the emblem fused to the steel casing of a Krieg spotlight. For almost three decades that searchlight had projected an ominous bat-winged shape into the night sky. It had become a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, they were not alone, the bad guys were not going to sweep them up and destroy them with their madness.

Not so long as they had Batman and his battalion of helpers were around to protect them.

He reached over and traced that emblem, feeling the burning metal against his palm and drawing solace from it. Finally, he reached around and flipped the light on. A beam shot high up into the sky, smacking the night out of its way to stamp that bat-shaped symbol upon the smooth velvet surface.

It took him three minutes before he realized he was no longer on the rooftop alone. He slowly turned to look at the cowled man standing there with his cape fluttering behind him in the gentle breeze. Batman was watching him with eyes that were a burning, blistering shade of blue. Ethan was half surprised when his clothes didn't begin to smolder from the heat in that glare.

"So..." he said slowly. "You decided to come. Wasn't sure that you would. Figu-"

"Why have you called me here?" Batman's voice was a low, dark, menacing purr. Like that of a jungle cat right before it attacked. "What is that you want?"

Ethan figured that was as good as the man telling him that he needed to get to the point. _Quickly_.

"Gordon asked me to pass you a file." He turned to grab a folder from where he'd set it beside the spotlight. "Says that you might be able to figure out what the hell is going on and find a way to stop whoever it is."

"Why didn't Gordon have me meet him at Arkham?" Batman's gaze sharpened. "Why didn't he give me this folder himself?"

"He has his hands full with transferring inmates from Blackgate," Ethan explained quickly. "We've had three breakouts and two riots in the last two hours alone." He heaved a sigh ripe with the exhaustion weighing upon him. "He'd have contacted you if he could."

Batman maintained a neutral expression. Yet his eyes revealed his keen interest in the folder Ethan held. As far as things went, it was more than the young detective could have hoped for.

"What is going on?" he asked. "What is in that folder, specifically?"

It was the question that Ethan had been asking himself ever since he pulled the folder from Gordon's desk. He had an idea about what the folder contained.

"I don't really know what is in here," Ethan admitted without shame. "All Gordon told me was that he wanted me to get this file from his desk, get it to you as quickly as possible, and to let you take matters from there."

"And you didn't take a look at what was in that file?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"Why not?"

Ethan felt a small bubble of annoyance form in the pit of his stomach at Batman's interrogation. However, he swallowed his frustration, told himself it was the silent guardian's way of testing someone's veracity.

"My Commissioner told me to pass the folder along without taking a gander at what was inside. And," he added when he saw Batman cock his head slightly, "out of respect to him and to you, I have done just that."

Batman held out one gloved hand. "Give me the file."

Ethan immediately handed it over. He watched as Batman flipped it open to scan the contents. His dark scowl confirmed that whatever information was inside was not good.

"Look, I don't know what is inside that file." He drug in a deep breath before continuing. "However, I suspect that it has something to do with the recent string of murders that have happened at Arkham this past month."

 _There_ , he thought. _I told him my suspicions_. Now it was up to Batman to decide what he was going to do with the information. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"What murders?" He followed that with, "How many?"

Ethan released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Six, so far."

"The Joker?"

Ethan had known that the Clown Prince of Crime would be the first one that Batman would suspect. It had been who Gordon had initially suspected, as well.

"No." Ethan shook his head. "No, we don't think that the Joker is the one behind these murders. They are too… _sophisticated_ for him. They lack his usual panache and flair for theatrics."

"Why am I only learning about these murders now?" It wasn't a growl. However, it was close. "Why wasn't I told about what was going on sooner?"

"Gordon wanted the GCPD to try to handle the case without you." He turned back towards the spotlight. "He didn't think that this was anything too complicated. Given the list of suspects and the place where all the murders were occurring, he figured we'd solve the case in a week."

"What changed?"

"The last victim." Ethan glanced over his shoulder. "She didn't fit the pattern."

"How so?"

"Well, she was not like all the other victims. She wasn't a patient or a family member or one of the Asylum staff for one thing. And she didn't die from the same cause of death as the others. It was like she was scared to death." He slowly turned back. "Her face..."

Ethan found he was talking to himself, however. Batman was long gone and he suspected had been gone for several minutes.

"Huh." There was a tinge of awe in his voice, upon his face. "I still wonder just how he manages to do that..."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Getting the legal out of the way, I own nothing but my idea and what characters you don't immediately recognize as belonging to DC.

This story is loosely set in the Arkham-verse. By loosely, I mean the events of Batman: Arkham Asylum might or might might not happen during the events of this story.

Please, if you like this story, follow/favorite it. Also, feel free to let me know if you liked this story (or didn't) in the box below.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just after seven in the evening. Dinner, if one wanted to call the gelatinous goop the staff served as _food_ had just been cleared away. Rather than being relatively peaceful, as was normal this time of the evening, Arkham was ablaze with activity. Asylum guards, doctors, orderlies and other staff members rushed all over the grounds, helping the GCPD officers who were on scene with the massively complicated process of finding beds for the influx of prisoners arriving by the busload from Blackgate.

Black transport vehicles continued showing up at a rate of three to four every few minutes, packed full with wildly howling inmates in need of temporary housing after a _mysterious_ fire at Blackgate Penitentiary left a large part of the prison uninhabitable.

Dr. Jonathan Crane listened to the guttural screams and animalistic curses, intermixed with the feeble and humble pleas for mercy from the damned with a look of benign amusement upon his face. Even confined as he was to his private cell deep in the Intensive Treatment building, he knew well what the flood of inmates from Blackgate meant: The Joker was about to play yet another of his insipid little mind games with the Batman.

A look of disgust fluttered across his face as he sat, cross-legged on his cot, a large tome balanced upon his knees. He turned his eyes to the thin, balding man who stood on the other side of his cell door, studying the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot and wiped his hands upon his lab coat with keen interest.

"I am rather surprised by your reticence, Dr. Nichols." He shut the book gently and slowly unfolded his long, lanky body from its contorted position. "Are you not concerned with the..." A small smile graced his thin lips, " _repercussions_ of refusing to do what it is that I have asked of you?"

Sweat sheened the doctor's face and dampened the bushy white tendrils sticking up over his ears as the slithery innuendo coating his voice registered. Alarm flickered across Nichols's craggy face as he realized exactly what Crane would do should he refuse to comply with his request.

Nichols's breaths were coming in short, uneven little gasps. The doctor placed a shaky hand on the wall next to the door and stared at Crane with eyes that were wide with the one emotion that he most craved to see: _fear_. And he didn't even need to deliver a small dose of his fear toxin this time!

Crane silently thanked whoever or whatever had blessed him with his good fortune. Uncovering a predilection, the good doctor didn't want the world learning about had proven a godsend. He had chosen Nichols not because the man possessed any skills or intelligence. The man was hardly more than a limp noodle.

No, he chose the good doctor because his particular… _inclinations_ made him the most manipulatable member on staff. He could exploit Nichols's habits for his own benefit. And he had to admit that he quite enjoyed the data he got from it.

"I cannot do you any more favors, Crane." Desperation sang in every syllable Nichols could get past his lips. "Warden Sharp is already getting suspicious about how it is that you are getting batches of your toxin out of Arkham. If I—"

"Now, now, my good doctor," Crane interjected in his most pleasant voice. "I can assure you that the favor I am about to ask of you has nothing at all to do with secreting another batch of my toxin out to the good people of Gotham."

"Still," the man insisted in a shrill tone. "Sharp is starting to suspect that I am the one who has aided you in your damned research."

"I assure you that my latest favor will cause our dear Warden much less concern than discovering who it is that has been..." His lips split into a wide grin. " _Playing_ with the corpses in the morgue."

Reticence wasn't something the good doctor could afford and he and Crane knew it.

Nichols dug into his pocket for a handkerchief that he used to mop the sweat from his face. "What is it that you want me to do, Dr. Crane?"

Crane set his book to the side of him and folded his long fingers together in his lap.

"Why you act as if I am going to ask you to kill your mother," he simpered. "I assure you that I am not."

"And I am certain that whatever you do ask will be just as terrible."

"Now, now, Dr. Nichols," Crane chided. "All I want is for you to _suggest_ to our dear Warden about how another doctor, particularly one with more experience with my particular condition, be brought in to consult with you about my treatment."

Dr. Nichols blinked his eyes wide at his requisition. It was, Crane found himself forced to admit, quite unlike any of the other requests he had made so far. However, this was no ordinary demand.

"You," surprise tinged the doctor's voice and face. "You want me to tell Warden Sharp that I think another doctor be brought in to consult with me about your treatment?"

"Yes." Crane smiled. "That is exactly what I want you to do, Nichols."

"Why?"

"Why?" He canted his head to one side. "Why, what?"

"Why do you want me to ask for a consultation?" Suspicion flickered across Nichols's face. Not that his skepticism mattered much to Crane. The man would comply no matter what his reservations were. "You are the one who doesn't believe that you are mentally ill. You have stated that many times in the past."

"I do not think I am mentally ill."

"Then why do you want another doctor consulting with me about potential treatments?"

His lips curved. "Because the doctor I have in mind to act as a consultant is very, very special."

Nichols's eyes narrowed. "Exactly who do you have in mind to ask to be called in for this _consult_?"

"Why, the lovely young woman on loan to us from the GCPD."

"Special Agent Kean?" Surprise replaced the suspicion. "You want Special Agent _Kean_ brought in as a consultant?"

"Yes, yes I want that very much." Crane pushed to his feet and scuttled over to the cell door. "You are personally acquainted with the young woman, are you not?"

"You know that I am," Nichols replied stiffly. "You are fully aware that I was the one who showed Special Agent Kean around Arkham after Warden Sharp granted her privileges here."

Crane giggled. He did know that. He just wanted Nichols to confirm it. "Then you are already in good standings with the young woman."

"I am, yes." The suspicion was back. "How is it that _you_ are so familiar with Dr. Kean?"

"I was her therapist."

"When?" Nichols demanded. "Dr. Kean isn't even thirty. For you to have been her counselor would mean she was only…"

"Nine." Crane allowed himself a moment to indulge in memory. "She had not yet changed her name from Berkeley to Kean."

"And what does that have to do with your wanting her to consult with me on your treatment? She cannot have anything to do with your case. Ethics alone would prevent her from getting involved with your treatment."

"Oh, but I am quite positive that you can persuade the young doctor to set aside those pesky ethics and offer you treatment options. Who better to do so, after all? Her grandfather was only the renowned Neuropsychiatrist, Dr. Matthew Berkeley Sr." Crane all but crooned the name. "Who else is more qualified to consult on my case than his very own granddaughter?"

"You want Dr. Kean to take over as your doctor," Nichols stated with a slight frown creasing his wrinkled brow. "Not just consult with me. You want her to become your therapist."

"Yes." He giggled. "I do."

"You think she has access to her grandfather's notes about his behavioral modifying agent, _Inceptive_."

It wasn't a question and Crane knew he really didn't have to reply, but he did so anyway.

"I do, yes."

"That's why you want her to take over as your doctor. You want to get close to her so that you can get your hands on the notes about _Inceptive_."

"Why, Dr. Nichols, you wound me." He pouted playfully. "Thinking I only want the company of the truly delectable Dr. Kean to get my hands on her grandfather's notes. I assure you that you are quite mistaken about that."

"Why else would you want her company, then?" Nichols demanded in a hard tone. "If not because of _Inceptive_ , what other reason is there?"

"Is there a reason for why I should not want her company?" He canted his head to the side. "I understand the young woman is lovely."

"Yes, Dr. Kean is an attractive young woman," Nichols admitted with a slight grimace. "However, your sudden interest in a member of the female species makes no sense. There are dozens of other women here at Arkham and you've shown absolutely no interest in them. What makes Dr. Kean so special?"

"Oh, would you like me to tell you about what makes Dr. Kean so special?"

"Yes." Nichols nodded. "I would."

"It was on Halloween night," Crane purred with a dreamy expression on his face. "Fourteen years ago…"

...

Nichols barely listened as Crane told his tale. It was a story he had heard many times before. Crane unleashed a fear bomb on the city of Gotham to distract Batman so he could kidnap the granddaughter of Matthew Berkeley Sr., a renowned neuropsychiatrist and the creator of a new neuraltoxin he hoped would cure the special class of villains Gotham attracted of their predilections.

The man's fixation upon the young doctor disturbed him on multiple levels. First, and foremost, Jonathan Crane was a psychopath with a dangerous alter-ego. The people who he tended to form associations with all ended up becoming participants in his research as soon as their use ran out.

Quite a few of his former victims resided here at Arkham because of the effects of Crane's patented fear toxin upon their minds. However, if he protested too strongly, showed any hesitancy whatsoever about doing what Crane demanded, his dark secret would be exposed. And he couldn't chance that happening.

"And what do you want me to say to Warden Sharp to convince him to assign Dr. Kean as your doctor?" Disgust coiled in his belly as he spoke. "She is not allowed to work with patients of your caliber. Not as of this moment."

A coy smile curved the doctor's lips. "Just suggest to the Warden that you feel, given Dr. Kean's extensive background with spectral disorders and psychopathy, that she be the one handling my treatment."

He really wasn't surprised that the demented doctor already had an answer. However, before he'd agree to this lunacy, there was one thing he had to know.

"What it is that you plan on doing with Dr. Kean once you acquire the notes on the _Inceptive_ formula?" He asked the doctor plainly. "What do you intend to do with her once she has fulfilled her purpose?"

"You really shouldn't ask me that, Dr. Nichols." Crane's cackle had tennis balls bouncing in his gut. "Though, I suppose you knowing about what it is that I plan does not really affect the outcome any..."

"What is it you have planned, Crane?" He demanded in a hard voice. "What do you intend to do once you have Dr. Kean alone?"

"Why, my good man," he said. "I merely plan to offer the doctor the most prestigious position that she could ever hope to aspire to."

"And what position is that?"

Crane's lips curled, and his limpid blue eyes shone with a hint of the madness that was always right beneath the surface.

"Why, I'm going to offer to make the lovely doctor my Mistress of Fear."

…

There were several psychopaths who had terrified Gotham by specializing in head games and mind control. The first of those to have come on the scene was a man by the name of Jervis Tetch. Adopting the moniker of the _Mad Hatter_ , he utilized a series of radiopathic circuit chips he hid in the brim of his top hats, as well as a host of psychoactive drugs to take control of his victim's mind.

Hatter was obsessed with the works of Lewis Carroll, and nothing about the recent series of murders which had occurred throughout various parts of Gotham smacked of either Wonderland or the Looking Glass world that shaped Alice's dream world.

Then there was the pasty-faced freak himself. Raya felt her belly churn with a mixture of disgust and hatred. The grinning madman had committed atrocity after atrocity, none more despicable in her mind than when he decided to beat a sixteen-year-old boy to death just to push Batman into breaking his one golden rule.

 _This is not the work of the Joker_ , she thought as she tapped a few commands into the Batcomputer. _It does not carry a hint of his usual MO. It's too... clean_. Besides that, the victim, a woman by the name of Helena Fitzsimmons, had not laughed herself to death. No, she carried all the signs of having been literally _scared_ to death.

 _Frightened to death. Well, that narrows the suspects down to just one possibility_.

"I believe Helena was killed by the Scarecrow," she said into the microphone next to her mouth. "If you will get me some samples, I will run the tests to confirm the presence of fear toxin."

"How could she have been given a dose of toxin by the Scarecrow?" _Batman_ rasped in her ear. "He's been locked up in Arkham for the last six months."

"I'm not sure how Crane was able to do it," she replied as she typed in a few more commands. "However, I am ninety-five percent certain that he did it. It's most definitely his signature."

"Check and make sure that Crane is still incarcerated in his personalized cell in the Intensive Treatment wing."

"Already collating the data as we speak."

He made a sound, one that might have been approval, before asking, "Why can't the others be as prepared as you are?"

She hummed a laugh. "Those buzzard brains just haven't learned that the best way to deal with you is to have the answers ready before you ask for them."

"Funny, imp." There might have been humor, just a speckle of it in that deep baritone. "You and Alfred should do a comedy act at this year's Wayne Enterprises Talent Show fundraiser."

Raya chuckled softly before a soft chime alerted her that the information she'd asked for had come back. She tapped a key and started to read the information displayed on the screen.

"Doctor Jonathan Crane is currently incarcerated in Arkham Asylum. A private cell in the Intensive Treatment building, maximum security level, under twenty-four-hour surveillance, a DNA-identity check is administered twice daily, and..."

"Enough."

Nothing she just told him wasn't something he had not known already. However, it was still comforting to them both to know that the deranged doctor was safely tucked away in his cell and not out causing his usual brand of mischief.

Crane was held to the same conditions as the Joker, Poison Ivy, and Mr. Freeze. They were just a small handful of criminals held under such extreme constraints. In addition to the security precautions put into place, every bit of the furniture in their cells was a hard, unbreakable plastic that was impervious to any form of chemical reaction.

Crane's vestments, including his trademark glove and burlap mask, had been replaced with standard Arkham issued cream-colored coveralls. Even the air itself was monitored for any potential carbon monikers that could aid the man in his escape.

There was absolutely no way that so much as a hair could make its way out of Crane's cell without Arkham staff discovering it and getting rid of it. However, Raya had been taught to listen to her gut. Right now, her gut was screaming at her that Crane had somehow found a way to deliver a concentrated dose of his patented fear toxin to Helena Fitzsimmons.

"Bruce, this isn't the work of the Joker," she said firmly. "I know it's not. And while I can't explain how Crane was able to administer his toxin... I am certain that he found a way to do so. He managed to inject Helena with a dose of his fear toxin."

His response, when he gave it, was the one she'd expected. "I'm going to pay a visit to Crane at Arkham."

"Do you think that Crane will actually give you the answers that you want?" She sat back in her chair. "He won't. He will play with you, taunt you with what he knows. That's if he doesn't manage to dose you with his fear gas." She drew in a breath, knowing the answer to her next suggestion but making it anyway. "Let me go. I-"

"You are to remain in the Cave." He said it in that way that meant he'd accept no argument from her about it. Not that she planned to argue with him about it. She had learned long ago about when to ignore his particular orders. "I will handle Crane."

"Bruce-"

"I'll send Red Robin or Nightwing to the cave with the samples that you need. Run them and confirm the cause of death as being from a dose of fear toxin. Is that understood?"

"Crystal," she huffed. "But I still think that you should let me go and talk to Crane. It's me he keeps sending messages too."

"Contact me when you have confirmation."

"Fine," she grumbled. "Just be careful, okay? There are only half a dozen Blackgate inmates and Arkham patients who'd love nothing better than to get even with Batman for locking them up."

To that, there was no reply. Not that Raya much expected one. However, she had no plan whatsoever to do as she had been ordered. Just because Batman was going to make a stop at Arkham didn't mean that he'd get the answers they needed. The way she saw it? _Dr. Raya Kean_ needed to pay _Dr. Jonathan Crane_ a personal visit. _You always get more flies with honey than vinegar_.

"Alfred?" she called as she stood up. "Are there any cars without armor body plates and bulletproof glass around this place?"

Alfred smiled. "Oh, I believe there might be one or two stashed away that will do."

"Can you find me one? I have a special appointment at Arkham."

"And what shall I tell Master Bruce when he asks about your whereabouts?"

Raya's lips twitched. "Tell him I did exactly what he would do if he were in my position."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, follow/favorite it!


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't turn on the lights."

"Son of a-!" Police Commissioner James "Jim" Gordon nearly jumped from his skin at hearing that familiar growl. Even recognizing it, and knowing to who it belonged didn't stop him from taking a reflexive step backward. His lower back collided with the handle of the office door.

Pain radiated upwards and outwards along his spine, stealing the breath he managed to draw in. He swallowed back a few rather unsavory phrases and peered into the darkened room, shoving at the bridge of his glasses to push them back into place.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Sorry."

Batman's voice was low, dark, and somehow both warm and menacing at the same time. It was little wonder he inspired such fear in those he helped bring to justice. Gordon merely grunted.

"I have never managed to get used to you appearing from out of thin air."

"Believe me." There might have been humor, just a sprinkle of it, lurking inside that rasp. "The moment you get used to me appearing from out of nowhere is the moment we both need to retire."

Gordon wondered if there would ever come a time when the man across from would hang up the cape and cowl. Part of him knew there would be a time when Batman, this version of him, anyway, would have to retire. Age was catching up to them. Him much more quickly than he liked.

"Already tried to retire once," he reminded the murky figure as he crossed over to the large desk in the middle of the room. "Mayor begged me to take the job back when the new Commissioner failed to keep you and the vermin of this city in line."

"Akers wasn't the right choice for police commissioner and the Mayor knew it."

Gordon silently agreed. Still...

"Akers was commissioner for barely a week." He glanced over his shoulder, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. "You could have given him a bit longer to settle into the job."

"Trust me." Gordon saw that large silhouette slither across the tile floor. It never failed to amaze him at how gracefully a man as large as Batman could move. It was so... _effortless_. "It was a long week."

Gordon did trust his dark visitor. They may not have started off on the right foot and there might have been some friction between them over the long years of their association, but he had never stopped trusting the man. He trusted Batman with good reason.

The hero had come to Gotham's aid countless times over the years. _And to my own, as well_ , he thought as he perched on a corner of the desk. Were it not for Batman, his niece, Raya wouldn't be alive. Nor would his daughter, Barbara.

However, part of Gordon had to admit that the relationship between him and the Dark Knight was one that was often as much of a curse as it was a blessing. Especially on nights like this, when the animals refused to cooperate and threats of danger lurked around multiple corners.

"I believe you," he said lightly. "I saw the reports. Joker, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Bane, and a riot at Blackgate. It's little wonder that Akers tossed in the towel after a week." He stared at where a pool of black on black had formed. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

"The file you left with Tate."

"You got it then?"

"Yes." The shadowy figure shifted. "Why didn't you alert me to what was happening sooner?"

It was a question he asked himself quite a few times.

"I thought the GCPD could handle the case without having to involve you in it." His fingers curled on the smooth wood as regrets did jumping jacks in his gut. "We thought the murders were all the work of a doctor here at the asylum and set about investigating him as our primary suspect."

"You never suspected the Joker? Or Jervis Tetch?" A pause. "Why?"

"Neither of them had access to any of the victim's."

"You're sure? The Joker-"

"Is quite capable of having done it, yes. But this is the one time where I can say, without a shadow of a doubt that he is _not_ the one behind the murders."

"It was this doctor then?"

"No." He swallowed back his bitterness and regret. "No, we ruled out the doctor as a suspect almost as soon as we started investigating him."

The shadow edged closer to the desk. "Why?"

"It seemed rather obvious it wasn't him when he turned up in the morgue."

There was an audible sigh. "Diagnosis?"

Gordon slipped around the desk and allowed himself to sink into the plush armchair with a small, grateful groan. It had been a long day. And by the look of things, would be an even longer night. Even now he could hear the howling and shouts of the animals as they were being locked away in their temporary cages. He angled his chair so he could peer at the murky shape loitering in front of the desk.

"All five male victims died from acute paranoia and a mild psychotic break brought on by..." he shrugged. "Well, they aren't sure what it was brought on by. Toxin tests came up negative."

"There was no alcohol or drugs in their systems?"

"The second victim was the only one who tested positive for drugs."

"Amphetamines?"

"Beta blockers."

"Regulates blood pressure." There was a faint rustle as Batman started to slowly pace. "You are sure there was nothing else?"

"Not that the medical examiner was able to find, no." Gordon squinted into the darkness. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

There was a faint sound, one that Gordon assumed was as close to a chuckle as Batman ever got. "Of course."

Gordon leaned back in the chair. "Then you know about as much as we know."

"For now." That cowled head turned. "What about Helena Fitzsimmons? What about her death made you believe that it doesn't fit with the others?"

"Helena exhibited the same signs of having suffered from acute paranoia and a mild psychotic break. However, it was almost like she had been..."

"Frightened to death."

 _Frightened to death_? Gordon thought. Yes, that seemed a perfect description for the expression that had been upon the woman's face. There was only one likely candidate who could be behind such a Fear response. Almost immediately, he discarded it.

There was no way it could be Crane. Not this time. Crane was in a cell deep down in Arkham's Intensive Treatment. He had been there for the last six months. _Hadn't he_? A niggling of suspicion crept over him and had him looking at Batman.

"Who is it that Raya think is behind Helena's murder?"

"What makes you think I have spoken with your niece about this case?"

"You always confer with Raya when these sorts of unusual circumstances crop up in investigations," he told the still moving figure. "Especially when you suspect that any of those with chemical compounds as part of their signatures might be involved."

"I do tend to speak with your niece when circumstances arise that could fit any number of those who use chemical compounds, yes." A faint sound, one that might have passed for a laugh, came from the shadows. "She has developed a talent for figuring out the chemical compounds based upon the particular set of patterns and compositions involved."

 _A set of deductive skills she acquired from us both_ , Gordon mused.

"And who is it that she suspects is behind Helena's murder?"

"The Scarecrow."

It was the last name he wanted to hear. "Crane?" He saw a slight tilt of the head. "Why Crane?"

"Are you sure that you want me to tell you the reasons for why she believes Crane is behind Helena Fitzsimmons murder, Jim?"

Gordon realized that he was only feeling moderately grim at that moment. That was all going to change once Batman revealed their girl's speculations. He had never shied away from the truth, no matter how bad it was or how hurtful it could be. Nor had he ever shirked doing his duty. He'd spent his entire career making the decisions nobody else wanted to make, fighting the fight everyone else was too afraid of, and doing whatever he thought necessary to ensure Gotham wasn't consumed by the darkness trying to infect it. _Like working with a costumed vigilante_.

"You're about to tell me something I am not particularly going to want to hear, aren't you?"

"There's a very good chance of that, yes."

"Good thing I took my blood pressure medicine before I left the precinct." Gordon made a face that was neither a grimace nor a smile. "Alright, tell me."

"Raya believes Crane managed to inject Helena with a dose of his fear toxin."

As far as news went, it wasn't the worst thing he heard that day.

"Is she positive it was fear toxin and not something else?"

"I have sent samples to her so that she can confirm it was Crane's toxin and not something else." There was a rustle of cloth as Batman edged closer. "However, I believe she is correct and that Helena Fitzsimmons died from a prolonged fear response caused by exposure to the properties of Crane's toxin."

"How did Crane inject Helena with a dose of his toxin, though?" Gordon shook his head. "He's been locked up here in Arkham for the last few months. And that damned glove of his is locked away in a cabinet in the Warden's office."

"I am not sure how Crane managed to inject her with his toxin." There was a pause. "But I will find out."

Gordon had no doubt about that.

"Why is he doing this? That is what I don't understand."

"Raya thinks he has done all this to secure her as his personal doctor."

"Crane wants her as his personal doctor?" He saw that dark head nod. "Why?" His brow puckered. "What purpose does having Raya as his personal doctor serve?"

Even as he asked the question, Gordon had a sneaky suspicion he already knew the answer. One Batman confirmed when he replied.

"It's about _Inceptive_."

 _Of course, it is_ , he thought bitterly. _It's always about that damn formula with Crane_. It was the driving force behind everything the son of a bitch had done to the girl. _Crane became interested in her the second he discovered she was related to the man who was the creator of a formula called_ _Inceptive_. The doctor became obsessed once he realized that Matthew Berkeley Sr. was Raya's grandfather.

 _He tried to convince her that Wayne and I did not have her best interests at heart, that we meant to hurt her as her bastard father had, and that we'd dispose of her once we had what we wanted from her_. A rush of anger simmered just beneath his skin as he remembered Raya repeating the doctor's words to him.

 _Had Batman not stopped me, I might have done something I would have ended up regretting_. Might have regretted, he amended as he released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. _I cannot say for sure that I would regret killing an animal like Jonathan Crane_.

Not if it meant protecting his niece from him.

Getting a hold of a powerful behavioral agent that allowed for the direct implantation of suggestions into the mind, was something the once exalted doctor wanted more than anything. And it wasn't hard to figure out why Crane wanted it or what he wanted to do with it once he got his hands on it.

Everything with Crane was about his research. It was _always_ about his research. He had been researching the phenomena of fear long before he'd been removed from his position as a tenured professor at Gotham University and extended a long-term stay here at the Asylum he once practiced in.

The end of his career came the night Crane tried to turn all of Gotham into one huge science experiment had revealed the depths to which the nefarious doctor would go to get his hands on the notes containing Dr. Berkeley's formula. Gordon had never managed to forget the events of that night _._

He much doubted he ever would. The people who had been lucky enough to not be infected by the toxic mist unleashed by Crane's fear bombs could do little more than stand by and watch as their friends, family, and fellow Gothamites lived a never-ending nightmare.

Many people had succumbed to the effects of that mist, their brains and bodies destroyed by the physical response to the chemical compound running rampant inside them. Those that managed to survive were locked away in Arkham, driven mad by the fears awakened by the poison and tormented by monsters their silent guardian couldn't save them from.

Gordon suspected revisiting that night and obtaining a far different outcome from the one he received was also behind Crane wanting to have Raya become his personal doctor. Being bested by an inexperienced fourteen-year-old girl had been a bitter pill for a man as proud as Jonathan Crane to swallow. The doctor had sworn to all and sundry that he would have his vengeance for her defiance.

 _And he's spent the last fourteen years doing everything he could to carry out his promise_.

Crane singling out his niece wasn't the thing most troubling him at that moment, though. Raya being the focal point of his attacks was not overly surprising given all the doctor's other attempts. No, the thing most disturbing him was about who Crane's partner in this venture was. _Someone is helping Crane_ , he thought as he reached up to take off his glasses. _It's the only conceivable way he could have secreted any of that damn toxin of his out of the asylum_.

Not knowing who that person was, why they were helping a man like Crane or what they were promised in return for their help had the acid in his stomach gurgling. Something, he liked to think of it as his detective side, told him that whoever Crane's partner was, they weren't working with him because they had any designs or desires for getting their hands upon Berkeley's formula for _Inceptive._ Not that the formula was part of whatever deal the two conspirators had _. Crane won't share Inceptive with anyone._

That Crane's test subjects largely consisted of people with a criminal past, who were patients at Arkham or addicts was also not uncommon. Crane made the most out of what he had. Helena Fitzsimmons was just the one outlier that skewed the data being collected.

She wasn't someone with a criminal history, had never been a patient or member of Arkham staff, and was certainly not a drug addict. _So why kill her?_ he found himself wondering. _What is the point behind it_? _Where is the connective tissue that links Raya with Helena_? Was this little more than a ruse that the doctor intended to use to draw Raya into his web? _Is this how he intends to get his hands on the formula_? _Threaten the lives of innocent Gothamites_?

If that was his master plan, it was a well thought out one. Even he, and the figure thickening the shadows had to admit that as far as strategy went, Crane was at the top of his game. The doctor knew Raya would never stand by and do nothing. Not when potential lives were at stake.

However, Gordon suspected there was another reason behind Crane's special selection of Helena Fitzsimmons.

He just didn't know what that reason was.

 _And we need to figure out what that reason is before our girl takes the notion and confronts Crane directly_ , he thought, a slow fire beginning to burn deep in his soul.

"We have to figure out who Crane is working with," he said grimly. "That is our primary goal. We have to figure out who they are and put a stop to them and this demented partnership they have formed with Crane."

"Agreed."

"We also need to figure out why Crane chose Helena Fitzsimmons as his last victim. There's a reason for it. Some purpose that we aren't seeing." He heaved a sigh. "Not yet anyway."

"I am going to see Crane soon as we are done here." The shadows parted as Batman floated to the door. "I will find out his motives. And I will put a stop to them."

"I don't need to tell you about what will happen if Crane chooses to go after targets that have any special connection to Raya..." Gordon said quietly. "You know how impetuous she gets when it comes to protecting people from those trying to harm them for personal gain or pleasure."

 _She's just like you in that regard_ , he added silently. _Wanting to protect everyone, the hell with the consequences or the risk to her own health and well-being_.

"That's why I am going to enlist Nightwing's aide. He can keep an eye on Raya while we work on stopping whatever it is Crane and his partner have planned."

Gordon grunted his approval. If there was anyone, beyond himself and the Dark Knight that he trusted with keeping Raya safe? It was the first Robin.

"He will manage to keep her out of trouble."

"If he can avoid being talked into it."

Gordon's lips twitched at the faint chord of displeasure he heard in that dark tone.

"They do make a helluva pair."

That cowled head turned in his direction. "That is why I am having him watch over her. He knows her the best. He knows her moves, her thoughts, how she will respond to certain situations and threats. And," he rasped as Gordon nodded his approval, "he will know how to stop her if she tries to face Crane head-on."

"She's on permanent leave as of this moment," Gordon told him. "I will have all her cases reassigned to Willows and Darsow."

"She won't be pleased that we are, effectively, ordering her to stand down."

"Well, she will just have to deal with her displeasure about it while holed up in that cave of yours," Gordon said in a voice that slashed the encroaching shadows in half. "She is on leave until this mess gets sorted out. Especially since the fourth victim? I believe he was a junkie by the name of Terry Sims."

"Sims." Batman straightened. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"From the news, most likely."

"The news?"

"Sims was the older brother of the kid that got assaulted by the Trevesco gang on the subway last year." Gordon reached up and took off his glasses. "The case has been all over the news." He fished around in his pockets for a rag to wipe the lenses on. "Raya has been working with the younger boy the last few months. He is one of her outpatients here at Arkham."

"So," Batman hummed. "The fourth victim might be connected to Raya directly..."

"If my suspicions about the boy's identity are proven correct, yes."

"If that is the case." Batman's voice was cold as ice. "Then I will also have Red Robin and Superboy keep an eye on her."

Gordon made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a chuckle. _And that will get our girl's goat more than being on leave_. He turned his head, intending to tell the dark figure that he supported such a move, but he found he was all alone in the office. He grunted softly.

"I hate when he does that."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that life has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, follow/fav it!


	4. Chapter 4

_Batman._

The mythical figure who struck fear in the hearts of those that made their living from terrorizing the innocent people who lived in Gotham's seedier underbelly.

 _Batman._

The city's Dark Knight, her Silent Guardian, her Caped Crusader.

 _Batman._

The hero who became Gotham's symbol of justice, hope, and protection.

 _Batman._

The shadowy icon who would swoop out of the sky without a moment's notice and snatch up one of the fouler fiends Gotham hosted before they could infect the city with their madness. A pair of eyes burning from within the confines of a terrifying mask haunted the dreams of the lawless and safeguarded those of the innocent.

He delivered soul-crushing pain with fists and feet of fury. Leathery wings spread across a night sky as he left as mysteriously as he arrived, leaving whomever of the city's filth bound and waiting for Gotham's so-called finest to come and take back to the cages that couldn't hold them for long.

 _Batman._

He had positively, unequivocally, and unabashedly _despised_ the name. Well, at first, anyway. Alfred, however, had seemed positively tickled by the moniker. When he questioned him about why that was, the butler responded simply and in his typical fashion.

…

"Well, sir, what did you expect?"

"Something better than this," he replied as he opened the newspaper and pointed to the name, along with a blurry picture of him gliding between buildings splashed across the front page. "I am not a Bat-Man."

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, but you choose to flit about the city dressed very much like a cross between Zorro and a _Chiroptera_."

"I do not _flit_ about the city, Alfred," he muttered as he folded the paper and set it aside. "I glide."

"And that is why you are being called Batman _."_

"Because I glide about the city?"

"Indeed." Alfred smiled. "You were bound to be called something that reflects the image you are, in fact, projecting. Why not Batman?"

"A name disempowers what I am hoping to accomplish."

"Perhaps," the butler allowed. "Or perhaps it gives you a power that you did not realize you could have."

One eyebrow feathered up as he considered Alfred's meaning. "You think that naming me Batman is a good thing?"

"I am saying that you should be thankful that all they are calling you Batman, yes."

The other eyebrow winged up at hearing that. "You're not suggesting that they could have come up with something even worse to call me?"

"Oh, they could have called you many, many things, Master Bruce. And," he added in a conspiratorial tone, "Quite a few far less kind things than the name they have gifted you with."

Bruce found himself truly horrified at the thought that there could be worse names out there than _Batman_. It just didn't seem likely that there could be anything worse than being likened to a bat.

He found himself curious, despite his best intentions. Part of him did not want to ask about what any of those names could be. And then there was another part of him that found itself completely unable to refrain from doing so.

"What other names could they have called me, Alfred?"

The butler busied himself by gathering up all the breakfast dishes and setting them on a tray. He glanced up, a suspicious twinkle in his eyes and a slight curve to his lips.

"Oh, just a few particular, _epithets_ , shall we say, sir."

"And all of them are worse than being called Batman?"

Alfred nodded and picked up the tray. "Far, far worse than the one that the society pages have granted you."

He placed his cheek on his upturned fist. "And you cannot tell me any of them?"

"Propriety forbids me from repeating any of them to you, sir."

He cast an amused glance at the butler.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Alfred?"

"Me, sir?" He shook his head. "Never."

Bruce merely snorted a laugh as the butler turned to head into the kitchen, leaving him to contemplate this name the Gotham Gazette had given him.

…

He had been right, however. Alfred had found a certain hilarité in his nocturnal nickname. _Batman_ was not what he intended to become when he decided to become the city's silent protector. Truth be told, he had never actually _planned_ on there being a name for his grim alter ego.

Quite the opposite had been his initial plan.

As he said to Alfred on that gloomy morning, a name would simply inhibit and diminish the power and mystery he was trying to do. He had felt that giving his other side a name would do nothing more than place a restrictive hand upon the terror he wanted to incite in Gotham's criminals. It would make him less of a threat and more of a gimmick.

The media, as it so often did, decided to intervene. They needed something sensational to sell papers with.

So, they named him... _Batman_.

 _And so, Batman I have become_ , he thought as he made his way through the Intensive Treatment building and down to where the cells housing the special classes of criminals were located. He learned to embrace his moniker once it became obvious the name was going to do the opposite of what he imagined it would.

Alfred had again been right - something the butler had a habitual habit of being - about the name _Batman_ inspiring the exact amount of fear and dread he wanted the lawless to feel. Sometimes, just his name alone was enough to stop criminals in their paths. _And it caused a good many of them to save me the time and effort of hunting them down by turning themselves in_ , he thought, a faint smirk twisting one corner of his mouth.

He had even come to think of himself as Batman, and applied the Bat-moniker to every gadget and gizmo that he came up with for his alter ego to use in his war against crime and corruption. As much as he had never anticipated taking a name for his other side, neither had he anticipated his professional life as Gotham's vigilante ever creeping over into the more private world of _Bruce Wayne_.

There was little choice in the matter, however. Batman's world intersected with Bruce Wayne's when he chose to take Dick Grayson as his ward. _And then Jason, and Tim_ , he silently added as he stepped inside the elevator and slowly descended to the next level. _I brought all of them into my world._

The elevator came to a stop and he exited it, heading down a long corridor towards where Crane was housed, his resolve to get answers firm.

…

 **The Diamond District, Gotham.**

Antonio Salducci normally preferred to do his business surrounded by a small pack of heavily armed bodyguards, his pair of specially trained Italian Mastiff, and a host of half-naked beauties to feast his eyes upon as he worked out the intricate details of whatever deal was going down.

His club, _Napoli_ , had become the place where most of his business dealings tended to occur. It was here, in fact, where he first met with a small-time pusher named Marko. It had been a rather lackluster Wednesday night, not a terribly busy night in the nightclub business; there had been all of ten couples out on the dance floor, and absolutely nobody sitting at the bar and partaking of the food and drink he offered to his clientele.

He had been in his VIP section when two of his bodyguards, Olieg and Johnny, came walking up and dumped this greasy looking loser in a cheap pinstriped suit in front of him. They had flanked him on both sides of his chair as he stared down at the man at his feet. His loyal retinue remained there, watching as their boss and this wannabe loser glared at each other, hands near the lapels of their suit jackets, mouths clenched in hard lines and eyes daring Marko to try anything.

What started out as an otherwise hostile situation quickly turned into one of his most profitable business relationships. Marko brought him news about the newest products hitting the streets of Gotham, and Antonio propagated that product for his own distributors to disperse to the hungry masses willing to pay whatever price he demanded.

Tonight, Marko had brought news that he thought Antonio especially needed to hear. There was a new product with some ridiculous name being rumored to become the primo in designer drugs about to hit the open market. Antonio doubted the claim considering that the drug had not even hit the streets at that point.

The more he questioned, however, the more intrigued he became by this _Inceptive_. Drugs fashioned by men with doctorates in both chemistry and psychology were not all that uncommon. Those who could manage to synthesize a drug that could deliver a better high than the one a product out of Star City called _Vertigo_ gave its imbibers? Now those people were a dime a dozen.

Aligning with a supplier always carried a considerable amount of risk. However, the potential profit margin should the drug see mass production made taking the chance worth it.

"This stuff is much safer than _Vertigo_ ," Marko was saying. " _Inceptive_ doesn't cause its imbibers to experience days of pain after partaking of it. It's like waking from a long sleep."

"This man you speak of," Antonio drawled as he lazily swirled the whiskey at the bottom of the tumbler he held. "He has a name?"

"Most suppliers only go by one name," Marko paused to take a drink. "This guy has two."

"And they are?"

"The name he was born with is Jonathan Crane."

"Sounds like he is pussyman," Olieg, Antonio's most trusted bodyguard cracked. "He wears tweed blazers and these thick-rimmed eyeglasses, no?"

Marko ignored him.

"The name he prefers people address him by is the _Scarecrow_."

"Sounds like he is pussyman at costume party," Olieg grunted as he folded thickly corded arms over his chest. "Why you say we can trust this man? This _Scarecrow_?"

"I've seen the Doc's work," Marko told him. "I know what the man is capable of. If he says that he can deliver, he can deliver."

Antonio was well acquainted with the reputation of the Scarecrow. Rumors had abounded for years that it was the Scarecrow behind the sudden mental breakdown of Carmine Falcone. His interest piqued even further now, he asked the question most prevalent on his mind.

"Why do you need my help then?" Antonio lifted his glass and drained it. "If the man can deliver on his own, what does he want from me?"

"He's got a slight problem with the fuzz. They've got his ass locked up in Arkham. You heard about what happened on New Year's Eve? All those people at the Wayne Masquerade Ball suffering some sorta psychotic break? This guy was the reason. Nobody knows what all went down or how he did it, but they know the Scarecrow had a hand in it."

"And?" Antonio arched one dark brow. "What's your point?"

"You give him a place to conduct his experiments, to synthesize the product, as well as a small cut of the profit, and he'll deliver enough _Inceptive_ to supply Gotham, Metropolis, and Blüdhaven. And you won't have to worry about foreign suppliers or the DEA. Nice little underground operation. Good for us, good for the good people looking for a primo high."

"You willing to vouch for this man, Crane?"

"Hey, whoa, I ain't gonna go that far," Marko sputtered. "The guy is a bit of a loose-cannon and does have a habit of attracting the rather undivided attention of Batman and his host of birds."

"Then what are you willing to say about a partnership with him?"

"I will say he's a solution to your problem of cornering the drug market."

"And if he stops being a solution?"

"Hey, if he stops being a solution? If he ends up becoming a liability?" Marko shrugged his shoulders. "Ain't like he's bulletproof. Know what I'm sayin'? Now, you in or out?"

"In. What does he need?"

"Right now, he needs a place to hide out after he gets out of Arkham."

Antonio knew that _getting out_ was code for _breaking out_. Not that it shocked him any. People were breaking out of the asylum all the time. _Especially that freak, the Joker_.

"What else?"

"Money so he can get the stuff he needs to synthesize a new batch of product."

Antonio had already suspected that money would be one of the first things requested. He waved a manicured hand to signify his acquiescence. "Anything else?"

"No." Marko waited a moment before asking, "You in?"

"Yes," Antonio replied. "I want a meeting, though. I want to hear from this Crane that _Inceptive_ is worth my investment."

Marko acknowledged that demand with a nod. "Few days, I'll call, set up a meeting between you and him."

"Fine." Antonio leaned back in his seat and almost smiled. "He can use the old hospital that the good ole mayor just closed down in his latest rounds of budget cuts. That suffice as a hideout?"

"The guy usually works in a morgue," Marko said as he got to his feet. "Have a feeling he's gonna be right at home in an abandoned hospital."

…

After Nichols departed to do as he instructed, Crane sat back upon his narrow bunk and silently contemplated his plan. It really was one of the most ingenious plans he had ever concocted. Of course, there would have been no need for such a complicated scheme if the lovely doctor would have answered any of the messages he sent her. If she would have agreed to see him, he wouldn't have felt the need to resort to such drastic, yet delicious measures.

Ah, but he really could expect no less from his intended.

He appreciated her intellect and sharp wit, applauded her grace and sophistication, and approved of her loyalty and courage. Her loveliness, as much as her personality inflamed his senses, stirred his soul and warmed the parts of him that had become numbed by the repeated cruelties and degradations he had endured throughout the course of his life.

The one, simple thing that he craved most to do, though? That he dreamed of doing every time he shut his eyes? That he had hungered to do ever since he had seen her standing at the end of a hallway in the transit section of the Intensive Treatment building?

To touch her.

He positively yearned with his want to caress that creamy skin, to feel it against the tips of his fingers and find out for himself if that flesh was still as soft and as satiny smooth as the first time he touched it. Oh, he had never forgotten the feel of her flesh against his own.

Fourteen years might have passed since that ill-fated night, the half-grown girl might have become a fully grown woman, but he never forgot the moment when he touched her. He imagined it was the closest he would ever come to touching an angel.

"Have you forgotten what she did to us?" The other side of him, the one called the Scarecrow sneered. "How she defied us? How she attempted to set us on fire?"

He had never forgotten what she tried to do to him. A memory splayed itself across the lenses of his glasses, reminding him of his greatest failure, taunting him with what his arrogance cost him, and laughing at him for his foolishness.

'I have never forgotten what she did,' he seethed as long-buried anger and resentment rose, fueling that other side of him lurking below the surface of his conscious mind. 'She turned that night into our greatest failure by preventing us from turning Gotham into our city of fear.'

"And she set Batman after us..." His heart beat with a different sort of anticipation now. His body hungered for something darker, colder and much more sinister in nature. "She will pay for her crimes by joining us, serving us as Mistress and means to our greatest end.

'She will be our way of finally getting our revenge...'

"Yes." A soft, humorless chuckle sounded but Crane couldn't be sure if it was him that did it or the Scarecrow. "You see now why our plan is so perfect?"

Oh, yes, he saw how perfect the plan was. Not only did it present him with the possibility to finally have his revenge on Batman, but upon the delectable Miss Berkeley, as well.

'She thought she could hide her identity by changing her name,' he simpered. 'But we know who she is. We have always known who she is.'

"And soon she will be ours."

Crane felt a shift start deep down within himself. Felt the Scarecrow slowly rising towards the surface. He could feel his presence swelling to life within him, trying to oust him, to seize control of their body.

 _No_! He could not allow the Scarecrow to rise to the surface! Not yet! He had things to do before he could give his other side free rein to make her pay for her crimes against him.

First, he needed to know that his beloved was still in possession of her grandfather's notes and formula. Then, and only then would he allow the Scarecrow his freedom. Because then...

" _Inceptive_ will be ours," the Scarecrow cooed.

And obtaining _Inceptive_ was almost more important to him than gaining his vengeance upon the winged rat.

 _Almost_.

The Scarecrow let loose a high-pitched cackle that sent chills down the spines of those who could hear him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that the week has been good to you!


	5. Chapter 5

Arkham Island, which housed the _Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_ , sat at the end of a miles long stretch of almost barren road. The few sparse trees that appeared in the glow cast by her headlights looked like skeletons dancing to a macabre tune only they could hear.

Lightning fractured the sky and thunder rolled, each an ominous warning about the dangers she would face once she reached the asylum. A thick mist crawled across the cracked and broken asphalt, swirled around the skeletal figures that followed her tail lights with hot, hungry eyes and gaping maws stretched into bone-chilling leers.

Raya despised this stretch of road with every fiber of her being. It was almost like she was driving the highway to hell. _And the devil is a man with a bone-white flesh and shining green eyes_. Nerves pulsed beneath her skin and beat a hard staccato against her ribcage. Marble-sized balls of anxiety rolled through her belly and left her wishing she had taken Alfred up on his offer to prepare a travel mug of peppermint tea.

Her dislike for this mile-long byway, coupled with her distaste for the asylum itself was why she only worked for the mental institution on a needs-driven basis. Arkham Asylum was an emotionally taxing, cognitively demanding environment on its best days. Even when the inmates were on their best behaviors here was still a constant need to keep a close watch.

The vast population housed within Arkham's cavernous walls were about as diverse as the island was long. Taking care of the inmates was a daunting and often frustrating task. One made even more impossible when select inmates chose to use the hospital for their own demented purposes. _Like Crane using the staff and inmates as his test subjects_ …

The asylum's guards, Doctors, and various other staff kept a close eye upon their unique colony via closed-circuit cameras stationed above every door in the entire complex. The staff even monitored inmate communications to make sure that nothing got in or out that could cause bodily injury. _Or worse_.

Guards were on patrol of the many wards and various parts of the grounds throughout the day and night. Guard stations had even been set up outside the facilities after the last time the Joker used Arkham Island to play one of his games with Batman.

Despite all the technological changes the new Warden made to the asylum's security system, and the procedures he implemented, there were still those who required even more strict measures to keep them tucked away in their cells. _And then there are some_ , _like the Joker, who cannot be kept locked away in one of the Asylum's deepest, darkest holes no matter the provisions in place_.

Arkham Asylum loomed larger than life in front of her less than a second later. Every pointed arch, ribbed vault, and flying buttress became illuminated by the shower of white-hot currants that zigzagged overhead. The electric smell of ozone stung the air. Her stomach knotted as she drove through the massive iron gates onto Arkham grounds.

Expectation and something else, a darker and more ominous feeling hung over her. She shook the sensation off, chalked it up to nerves as she pulled up in front of the Intensive Treatment building and parked.

A balding doctor in a white lab coat and horn-rimmed spectacles dangling off his bulbous nose waited for her on the front steps.

"Are you the man I spoke with on the phone a few minutes ago?" She asked as she stepped from the car. "Dr. Nichols?"

"That's ri-right, uh, Mi — _Doc-Dr._ Kean. I'm Albus Nic-Nichols."

As he spoke, Raya noticed the way he carefully averted his eyes. There was a guilty flush making his already ruddy complexion blotchier. He kept shifting from foot to foot and taking and curling his hands, then uncurling them every few seconds. _Nerves, a bit of shame_ , she thought as she studied him through slightly narrowed eyes. _Dr. Nichols is a man with a secret._

And secrets were the most useful weapons in a place like Arkham.

 _Well_ , _I think I may have just found who Crane's accomplice is. Now,_ she decided as she came to a stop in front of him. _I_ _need to figure out what it is that Crane is holding over him._

"My apolo-apologies for my social gaffe…" he stammered, reddening even more. "I just—"

"It's perfectly alright, Dr.," she assured him in her most soothing voice. "Miss Kean is perfectly acceptable. Or just Raya if you're of a mind to forego formalities."

"Whatever is acceptable to you," he replied as he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his sweaty brow. "I realize that this is all highly unusual…"

She cut him off with a small chuckle.

"Considering the request came from Dr. Crane?" Raya slanted a sideways look at the doctor. "It really isn't all that unusual. Or unexpected for that matter."

Nichols' eyes popped wide and his bushy brows shot up almost to his hairline.

"You… kn-knew the requ-quest was from Dr. Crane?"

"Of course," she said with a small smile. "Dr. Crane has had all of his previous Doctors make formal requests to either have me assigned as his personal Dr. or to consult upon his treatment."

"Al-all of them have made similar requests?" he asked a bit weakly. Raya imagined his tummy was probably like a volcano about to erupt. She was sympathetic to his plight despite her suspicions about his involvement in Crane's activities. On his own, Albus Nichols was a perfectly harmless man. It was just the monster controlling him that made him dangerous. "How many Doctors has Dr. Crane had since being institutionalized here in Arkham?"

"Ten at last count."

"Ten?" he squawked. "He has had ten Doctors since being institutionalized?"

"Yes," she confirmed with a nod. "And all ten made the same request as you have. I have waited for when he'd have you make one."

"You knew he would have me make the request, too."

"I am honestly surprised it has taken him this long to have you make the request."

Only silently did she add, _and that makes me wonder why._ Crane was a crafty man. He never did anything without there being some sort of ulterior motive. There was a reason for why he waited so long to have Nichols make his request for him. And she suspected that reason was whatever he was holding over the doctor.

"But..." Nichols shook his head. "If you knew it was Crane who actually made the request..." his voice trailed off into a helpless silence.

"Then why did I bother coming? Is that what you would like to know?"

"Yes." A perplexed frown pulled at his snowy brow. "I'm afraid it just doesn't make sense that you would come all the way here knowing this is something orchestrated by Crane, himself."

"That's precisely why I did come." Her teeth flashed for a moment in the shadowy entryway. "Because Crane is the one pulling the strings."

It was clear from his expression that he didn't comprehend her reasoning. It wasn't like she was going to elaborate upon them. Or convey her suspicions about his being the one helping Crane.

"You came because you wanted to make sure he was still locked in his cell."

"Yes." She waved towards the door. "Shall we?"

Nichols nodded and together they stepped into the Intensive Treatment Lobby. It was after eight and the lobby was ablaze with activity. Guards and orderlies and other staff members were rushing about, helping process the influx of inmates transferred here after a mysterious fire at Blackgate had left hundreds in need of temporary rehousing.

Raya had already been on her way to Arkham when the Warden phoned to tell her about the doctor's request to have her replace him as Crane's primary caregiver. Blackgate inmates with shaved heads, faux-hawks and tribal tattoos covering their faces, necks, chests, and arms yowled disparaging and disgusting sexual remarks as they crossed to the elevators.

It was something she had long accustomed herself to having to deal with when she made visits to Blackgate or select parts of Arkham. She tuned out the catcalls and the whistles as they stepped into the elevator. Nichols turned to her after they started descending down into the asylum's lower levels, his eyes wary and his face shining with concern.

"You are aware Dr. Crane is a level 8 patient, are you not?"

"Yes." She glanced at him. "I assure you I am very well acquainted with Dr. Crane. I know just how dangerous a man he is."

 _I know how manipulative he is_ , she added silently.

"It does not bother you that you are, essentially, walking into the lion's den? And that there is nobody there who can protect you should things get out of hand?"

It was clear Nichols was trying to dissuade her from speaking with Crane. The question Raya asked herself now was: _why_? What else did Crane have planned that this man didn't want her finding out about? Her brow knit as she considered all the possibilities.

 _There are_ , she realized with a slight jiggle of worry and doubt, _a lot of things that a man like Crane could have planned_. Part of her wondered if she shouldn't step away and relay her concerns to either Oracle or Alfred. Another part told her she should swallow her pride and contact Batman directly.

She ignored both sides.

 _For now._

"I know I will have no protection should things get out of hand," Raya finally said as the elevator came to a stop at the proper floor. "I'm confident that nothing will happen, though."

"Why?" Frustration sang in that single word. "Why are you confident that Crane will not attempt anything?"

"Crane wants me to become his Dr.," she said simply. "He won't do anything that will risk my refusing his request."

The transport doors opened, cutting off any further discussion. Nichols gestured for her to exit the lift ahead of him. Raya did as he instructed and used the time to stare down the dark hallway.

Part of her wondered if Batman was there and watching, waiting for her to admit her folly in coming here to face Crane personally. _It would totally be like him_ , she groused silently as she slowly made her way down the corridor.

"I think this is a terrible idea," Nichols announced all the sudden. "Crane is not a man who should ever be underestimated. He's—"

"A high-functioning sociopath obsessed with phobias and fear," she finished for him. "Yes, I'm aware of what his peculiarities are, Dr. Nichols."

"Then you know he is the second most deranged and dangerous man housed on this level. The first, of course, being—"

"The Joker." She smiled to soften the sting of hatred that flavored her tone. "Yes, I am quite aware that the Clown Prince is also housed on this level."

Coming face-to-face with the Ace of Knaves was a risk she was willing to take to not only make sure that Crane was where he belonged but get some answers, as well."

"Given your history with the Joker…" Nichols began slowly. "It would be more advisable for you to avoid a confrontation. The control room is just up the set of stairs there. We could..."

"As much as I do not wish to find myself face-to-face with the Joker," Raya said quietly, "I need to see Dr. Crane in his cell. I need to speak with him, personally."

"But the monitors..."

"Are often fooled by the Asylum's very creative and most clever inmates. And as you have repeatedly pointed out, Jonathan Crane, as mentally imbalanced as he is, is not only exceptionally intelligent and talented but incredibly dangerous, as well."

"Which is _why_ ," Nichols stressed the word, "we keep him under twenty-four-hour surveillance. We do not take any chances with a man like Dr. Crane."

"A very wise thing to do considering his propensity for testing his Fear toxins upon Arkham inmates, Doctors, guards and staff."

"I am forced to admit that as much as we try to prevent Crane from continuing his research," Nichols said with a sigh, "he does find ways to conduct his experiments."

Crane, much like the Joker, always managed to find loopholes in the restrictions placed upon him. The wards contained many of those he had doused with his toxin. _And a few are his former colleagues and doctors_ …

"That is why I need to see and speak with him for myself," she said as she made a slight _after-you_ motion with her hand. "I need to make sure he doesn't have another experiment we don't know about in the works."

Nichols let out a sigh, his only outward sign of distress. It was enough, though to confirm that Crane was up to something. _And the good doctor here is somehow tied up in whatever it is…_

"Since you insist," he said as he moved towards a door.

The thick steel formed a barrier of an area of Arkham almost as secure as Fort Knox. A white light shot out from a scanner affixed to the top of the door and slid over them, checking to make sure they had the proper clearance before the locks slid free and the metal door opened with barely a sound.

They passed through the entrance and made their way in silence. Occasionally, they passed empty habitats, many of which had once been home to the more dangerous and extreme members of the asylum's population. Raya was about to ask Nichols about how much farther it was when she spied Crane's octagon shaped glass cell at the end of the corridor.

Though still decorated in sterile hospital white, the cell was nowhere near as spartan as a few of those they passed. Translucent plastic bookshelves circled one side of the room and filled, as she expected, with huge textbooks.

The anticipated works from select schools of psychology, sociology, and even chemistry rest beside the more surprising ones featuring archaeology, anthropology, and even select historical periods.

Hundreds of legal notepads and plain yellow folders covered in dozens of sticky notes sat neatly on the middle shelves while a smattering of fictional works, mostly all classics, sat on the lower ones. Even more surprising was the book of poetry she saw on the small plastic table next to the neatly made cot.

The simple and yet distinctly eclectic tastes were as much at odds with each other as the physical differences that existed between Crane and his alter ego.

 _Dr. Jonathan Crane_ stood in front of one of his bookshelves, caressing the worn spine of one of the thick tomes with one long finger in an almost reverent fashion. He turned at the sound of their approach, his large, pale eyes only mildly curious behind the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses.

Though nowhere as pale as the Joker, Crane's skin still reminded her of fresh cream. It made his thick shock of dark hair and equally dark brows stand out in even more vivid contrast.

Raya always found herself taken aback by the extreme differences between Crane's two personalities. When the Scarecrow was not in control, Jonathan Crane was a quiet, studious kind of man who could be unfailingly polite, uncharacteristically pleasant, and so genteel in his mannerisms that he almost reminded her of the staid and proper Alfred Pennyworth.

 _If Alfred was a mass-murdering psychopath, that is_ …

That did not excuse nor in any way make light of the atrocities that his other side had committed. A brilliant psychiatrist and chemist, Crane had focused his research on the study of the emotion known as fear, particularly phobic fears and their causes. His thesis on the subject was still considered the definitive analysis on the subject.

She had even studied his research as an undergraduate and could admit that she felt a certain fascination while reading several articles he had written on the subject.

Crane's scholarly ways and gaunt physique added to his image of the harmless researcher. However, the image was misleading. Much like the Joker, Crane had surprising strength and stamina for one who appeared so frail. He was hypermobile, capable of contorting his body without any apparent pain or difficulty.

She had seen video footage of him in his Scarecrow persona contort his skeletal frame into positions and poses that were startling to behold. And when he joined those supple distortions with that hideous gas mask and those toxins he so favored, he became something utterly terrifying to behold.

"Dr. Kean?" There was only faint surprise in his soft, smooth voice. And a hint of that demented glee just lurking below those cool, glacier depths. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"As if you don't know why it is that I am here, Dr. Crane."

"Ah, yes, my request to have you named as a consultant on my case."

"Consultant?" One eyebrow lifted. "I thought you desired me to become your primary therapist?"

"Oh, but I do," Crane replied with a boyish smile. "I would like that very much, in fact."

"I must admit that I find myself wondering why you want me as your therapist. Surely, there are others with more experience than I who could handle your care.

"You cannot blame me for desiring someone with a more professional discipline to overlook my care." His sly, manipulative tone was not lost on her. He was playing with her, appealing to her ego and curiosity with the hopes it would lure her in. "You _are_ aware that there is a severe lack of professionalism and a slew of unethical practices going on here at the asylum, are you not?"

"No. I was not aware there was a lack of either professionalism or unethical practices occurring here at the asylum."

"Oh, my, yes," He shuffled closer to the clear barrier and dropped his voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. "There have been a few dead bodies sent to the morgue that has nothing to do with myself or any of my fellow cohorts."

"I have not heard of any of these dead bodies," she said, frowning. "How are these people dying? What is being doneto them? And by whom?"

"Why there have been a few, shall we say, _inhuman_ experiments performed upon the inmates by one of Arkham's most prolific doctors."

"Have there now?"

She filed the information away in her mind vault. Crane was many things: delusional, deranged and dangerous, but something about his manner suggested that he spoke the truth. It wasn't like investigating his claim was that much of a bother. _Especially if what he says is true_ …

"How do you know of these experiments?"

"Why, Dr. Nichols told me about these experiments in our sessions." He sent a small, sly smile at the nervous doctor. "Didn't you, Dr. Nichols?"

Nichols blanched at the implication in Crane's silky tone. "Ye-yes, I did."

Crane was a little boy bursting at the seams with a secret. One that he was clearly willing to tell if Nichols didn't do and say precisely what he wanted.

Whatever this secret was, it was clearly one that Albus Nichols was willing to risk his entire career and reputation to keep hidden. He had already gone to great lengths to keep Crane quiet. _And would likely continue to do so until he is no longer of any use_.

It was clear that Crane would continue to not only get his hands on the chemicals he needed to brew more of his toxin but administer it to whoever he wanted so long as he had Nichols beneath his control.

 _Now that I know who his helper is, I need to figure out what secret Nichols has that gives Crane his power over him. Once I know that I will know how to put an end to their partnership that may preserve some of Nichols dignity if nothing else._

"Is what Dr. Crane saying true, Dr. Nichols?" she asked, turning towards the profusely sweating man. "Are there in-human experiments being performed upon patients by one of the doctors?"

"I... I'm afraid so, Dr. Kean."

"And you know this how exactly?"

"Because there have been a number of inmates brought into the medical ward after suffering some type of allergic reaction to a toxin they'd been injected with."

She made a note to mention these experiments to Bruce when she got back to the cave. No matter what the men and women imprisoned within these walls had done, they deserved humane and ethical treatment. That they were not offended and appalled her on both a professional and personal level.

"And do you know which doctor is performing these experiments?"

Nichols glanced briefly at Crane, who nodded his ascent. That Crane had that much power and control worried her almost as much as knowing there was another doctor on staff using patients for their experiments.

"Dr. Young is the one who is performing the experiments."

"Penelope Young?" Raya couldn't keep the surprise from her tone. She had graduated from Gotham University the same year as Penelope. They had been in many of the same classes and worked together on many of the same research projects. "You are certain?"

The pained look he gave her was all the confirmation she needed. Hearing that one of her former classmates and friends was experimenting upon people ignited a fire in her belly. She forced herself to calm down. _I will take the information to Bruce and let him investigate the situation_ , she decided as she looked back at the lanky figure smiling at her from behind the thin glass.

"Well, it looks as if you will be getting a new doctor assigned to you, Dr. Crane." Delight, as well as a hint of that underlying aberration, crept into those lucent eyes. "It won't be me, however." Glee quickly turned into annoyed disbelief. Not that Raya cared how upset he got by her refusal. She nodded to the scowling doctor and said, "Good evening, Dr. Crane," before turning to walk away.

She made it just around the corner when Crane's soft, plaintive voice twisted into the shrill cackle that belonged to the Scarecrow.

"You have not heard the last of me, Dr. Kean!"

"I didn't think I had," she muttered as she exited the ward.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that the week was a good one!


	6. Chapter 6

Raya ducked into the small alcove she had seen when Dr. Nichols and herself were making their way to the extreme isolation area. The prying eyes watching via the asylum's security cameras couldn't see her in here and so wouldn't be able to report to the Warden about the clandestine meeting about to take place between her and the figure she had spied after exiting the elevator with Nichols.

Silently, she acknowledged how she should have known, _suspected_ that Batman would have Nightwing be the one enlisted to keep eyes on her. He likely had requested the other hero keep an eye on her long before their own talk. A smile curved her lips as she imagined the conversation that occurred between the two.

Knowing the two, the discussion ended with a smile from one and a sigh from the other.

 _Oh, but you'll have Nightwing or Red Robin bring me the samples I need to test to confirm Helena Fitzsimmons cause of death, indeed_ , she thought as she leaned back against the wall to wait for Nightwing to join her. _You had this planned from the moment you ordered me to stay in the Cave_. Not that _that_ was any surprise, either. It was commonly known among the members of the family, as well as the Justice League about Batman being a paranoid cynic.

He tended to develop contingency plans for every one of his contingency plans. It was a source of much amusement to them all about how many ways Batman had thought about handling one situation. Nightwing and Superman both tended to tease him about his inability to form just one plan and stick with it. Batman tended to set one or two things in motion long before even having the original event come into play.

 _He probably_ _has Robin and Red Robin lurking around here somewhere.._.

And if not either of those heroes, then it would likely be members of either the Titans or Young Justice. _Haven't seen or heard from Clark or Conner_ , she mused. _He does like calling in the Kryptonian muscle when he wants to make a point_.

People always assumed that Batman possessed no feelings for either his protégés or those he considered allies and friends. Raya knew that was not completely the truth. Batman felt keenly for those people he accepted into his life. He just had a tough time in showing them _how_ he felt. _Or in responding to certain emotionally-based situations_.

Her internal musings halted when metal scraping against metal precluded the grate covering the ventilation shaft above her sliding open. She glanced up, amusement bubbling in her belly and soothing the balls of tension that had been playinga rousing game of basketball just a few moments before. The outline of the figure perched inside the asylum's ventilation shaft was an easily discernible one.

The lack of a pair of pointy ears poking up from his head was but one of the things that differentiated this man from the one who trained them. There was a plethora of other things, physical and psychological differences as well as personality traits that separated Nightwing and Batman. _Nightwing has a sense of humor for one_ , she thought as she studied the man perched in the shadows. _And he remembers how to have a good time despite all the hardships and obstacles he has faced._

Course, there was one thing the two heroes supposedly shared: _stealth_. Something the Winged Blunder had seemingly forgotten to use as he trailed her on her way to Crane's cell.

"How exactly did you manage to sneak up on the members of the Justice League without being detected by any of them?" She asked in lieu of a greeting. "Seems like they'd have seen or heard you long before you revealed yourself if you were trying as hard as you were tonight."

There was a sound, almost a faint rumble of amusement that sounded from above before Nightwing teased her by saying, "I was trying a lot harder not to get discovered when I was sneaking up on the Justice League members than I was at remaining hidden from you."

"Oh?" One eyebrow arched. "And why did you did not feel the need to stay hidden from me?"

"Well, for starters, I was trying to prove I was as good as the members of the Justice League when I snuck up on them," came his amused reply. "Two, I didn't relish the idea of being flattened by either Superman, Wonder Woman, or Cyborg. And three," he said over her sigh, "I figured that since I am only tailing you to make sure that you don't get yourself into any trouble, there wasn't any particular need for stealth."

"Oh, is that how you're justifying being spotted? You weren't even trying?"

"Yup, totes how I am justifying you spotting me."

"What if Crane spotted you? Or Dr. Nichols?"

"Crane couldn't keep his eyes off you and Nichols was too busy trying to blend in with the paint to notice anything else."

"Yanno," she drawled, "I thought you were instructed to use the art of stealth at all times? Or did I miss the day when Batman taught screw stealth, it's just your best friend?"

"Well, I interpreted that lesson the same way you did Batman's instructions about waiting in the Cave for me and Red to bring you the samples he wanted you to test."

Raya merely harrumphed.

"As if _you_ would have obeyed those instructions, bird boy."

"I absolutely would have done as I was told."

"Please," she scoffed. "We both know you'd have left before Batman even finished handing out those instructions."

"Of course." His teeth appeared briefly. "But I'm not you."

"And that changes that you wouldn't have heeded his instructions any more than I did, how?"

"Totally," he replied cheerfully. "See, I built my career on not obeying Batman's every command."

"Oh, and I have always obeyed everything he's said?" She shook her head and heaved a despondent sigh. "You're getting forgetful with old age, winged one."

"I'm the same age as you."

"Ah, but unlike you, I get better as I age."

"Yeah?" He dropped down beside her and gave her a look full of unholy deviltry and delight. "Well, I am not the one Jason calls the perfect little birdie for a reason."

"I'm so not the perfect little birdie," she grumbled. "Don't even give me that line of crap."

"You are Batman's perfect soldier, Rae," he told her seriously. "Always ready with the answer, always having an idea for how to get around a set of obstacles, always the voice of reason."

It always made her uncomfortable when a member of the family called her Batman's perfect soldier. It wasn't like she was perfect. She had flaws like the rest of them. She made mistakes. She wasn't always right. She didn't know every answer. _I fail at things_ , she told him silently. _Just like you_.

And just like Batman.

"It's not that I am perfect," she repeated, more firmly this time. "It's just I am good at performing whatever my chosen tasks or assignments are."

"And that is what makes you his perfect soldier."

"No." Raya crossed her arms over her chest and glanced away from him. "It doesn't make me his perfect little soldier."

"Does so."

"Does not."

"Hey." His fingers were gentle as they cupped her chin. "Look at me." He waited until she complied before saying. "You are his perfect little soldier." He sent her that easygoing smile of his. The one that always turned her insides to mush and made her forget about whatever grievance she had with him. "You always have been. You always will be."

"Maybe I was his perfect little soldier once upon a time," she allowed begrudgingly. "I mean I always tended to follow orders and obey Batman's command when we were children. _However_ ," she stressed over his snort, "I now take his orders and instructions under advisement. I don't do every little thing he says. I have learned, from him and from you, to trust my own instincts and my own mind."

"That is exactly the reason for why Batman issues his orders to us through you." He reached up to cup her cheek in one gloved hand. "It's because he knows that the one member of our family who is most likely to make sure that some part of his orders gets carried out is _you_. You're his General." His thumb swept over the ridge of her cheekbone, silent comfort and support. "Just like Ra's always calls you."

 _This_ , she thought as she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. She needed this, needed _him_ to find her balance after her meeting with Crane. As steady and stable as her dark and grim mentor, as wonderful as her younger brothers, as coolly logical as Alfred and her uncle, as wholly supportive as her cousin and other best friend, Barbara, none of them was _this_ man.

The man beneath the suit of black armor trimmed in aquatic blue was more than just some passing acquaintance she spoke with from time to time. He was far, far more than just another member of Gotham's silent guardians that she worked with occasionally. _And he is so much more than someone I can prevail upon when things get a little too tough in Gotham for the GCPD to handle_.

Richard Grayson, as well as his alter ego of Nightwing was her best friend and partner. He had been ever since they were nine and tragedy took their worlds and flipped them upside down before turning them inside-out.

"Thank you." She reached up to lay her hand over his. "I needed that after my conversation with Crane."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Is that the only reason for why you're here at Arkham?"

"Is there another reason I don't know about?"

"Well, I figure it is because the Batass asked you to keep watch over me."

"Well," he said, his smile edging towards sheepish. "He did indicate to me that someone needed to keep an eye on you because you were about to disobey his order to stay at the Cave..."

"Oh, please."

He tugged at one errant curl playfully. "Since you disobeyed…"

She rolled her eyes. "I only disobeyed because he was being completely unreasonable about me meeting with Crane."

"He has a reason for why he doesn't want you meeting Crane alone."

"It's not like I cannot handle Crane on my own."

"I know you can handle Crane on your own. However," he added with a slight twinkle in his eyes that had her belly doing flip-flops, "you still didn't obey Batman's order to stay at the Cave."

Raya harrumphed again.

"Because that order was high-handed and unfair and _you_ know it."

"And his other orders are less so?" One black brow lifted at her nod. "C'mon, Rae, we both know that this is just him being him."

She did know that. Normally, Batman's overprotective nature didn't cause her so much annoyance. Tonight, though, it bothered her.

"I was right about Crane only talking to me," she groused. "He would never have revealed to you or Batman about who his accomplice is. Or about what has happened here in Arkham with the other patients."

"I know that." His sigh stirred the hair at her temple. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

"Heaven forbids that anyone but you or he get the necessary answers..."

"There's the pot calling itself black."

"I'm nowhere as bad as you two dolts."

"Well, you're reasonably more manageable than Batman, I have to admit that." His teeth flashed for a moment. "And you are much cuter in your suit..."

"Oh, would you please..." She rolled her eyes when he sent her a playful wink. "You need your head examined, bird blunder."

"What? You don't think that you're cuter or more reasonable than Batman?"

"Of course, I am more reasonable than Batman," she muttered crossly. "A rock is more reasonable than Batman."

"So, what's the problem then?"

She sighed as she debated over what the answer was to that very logical question. Of course, whatever Crane was planning was at the head of the list. However, the knowledge that a friend of hers was performing unethical, and potentially illegal experiments upon patients almost disturbed her more than whatever Crane might be planning did.

"Well, Crane is definitely the biggest concern I have now..."

"Of course," he lightly teased. "That is why you disobeyed Batman and came here to Arkham, after all."

She harrumphed. "It's not like Batman _forbid_ me from coming out to Arkham..."

"You can consider yourself forbidden from coming out to Arkham as you return home to the Cave," a dark voice rasped from above. "It will be your penance for disobeying my direct order about remaining at the Cave and waiting for Nightwingor Red Robin to bring you the samples I wanted you to test."

 _Why am I not surprised that you've shown up_? she silently asked as she looked up.

"I get you're worried about me being face to face with Crane because of all the other times where he has either dosed me with his toxin or tried to force my hand by dosing another member of the family with his toxin." She lifted her eyes to meet the ones obscured by shadow. "However, you taught me those were the risks we had to take sometimes if we wanted to stop the monsters from..."

"It is less I am worried about you being face to face with Crane," he interjected, "as it is concern over what it is that he has planned."

"It's the same thing it always is with Crane _,"_ Nightwing stated in a low, dark tone. "He wants the notes on _Inceptive_ and has set this little drama up with the intention of convincing Raya to hand them over to him."

"And the murders?"

"Lures to lead her here."

"The last is more than just a lure," Batman rasped. "She was..."

"An experiment," Raya announced. "Something we would never have found out if I had not come here myself and spoken with Crane directly."

She didn't add that Crane had been positively bursting at the seams with his want to give that tidbit away. Same as he gleefully kept dangling who his secret helper in getting his toxin out of Arkham was. It was all a means of manipulating the situation to his advantage. More information he tempted her with, the more likely it was she would agree to whatever demands he made. _As if that would ever happen_ …

"What?"

Batman and Nightwing asked the question at the same time. Raya swallowed a smile and the light jest bubbling up in her throat. Teasing either man about how similar they were with things so tense was not a real smart idea. _Later, however_...

"That's why Helena didn't fit with how the others died," she explained patiently. "She wasn't dosed with fear toxin as we assumed. She was given something else."

"Such as?"

She had known Batman was gonna ask that.

"I am not overly sure about what," she admitted with a slight grimace. "But I suspect it is another chemical agent. One that mimics the fear responses of Crane's toxin and causes the person to die from prolonged exposure."

There was a faint rustle, like the wet flapping of wings a split second before a large black shadow filled the small alcove. "And can you confirm this?"

"Not yet, no." She heaved a sigh as she lifted her eyes to the magnetic ones staring at her from the holes cut into that gruesome mask with the pointy ears protruding from it. "I will confirm my suspicions when I get back to the Cave and those samples that are now waiting for me."

Nightwing stifled a snort. Raya shot him a dirty look but he just offered her a sweet smile. _As if that buys you out of trouble_ , she thought irritably.

"Have Oracle access Arkham's patient list," Batman told her. "See if Helena Fitzsimmons was seeing anyone here or at one of the outpatient clinics."

She already planned to do that and so said, "Will do."

"Who is the one performing these experiments?"

Raya struggled with wanting to believe her friend incapable of performing such atrocities upon anyone. However, her logical side kept pointing out that Penelope had to have crossed some ethical boundaries somewhere.

 _Crane wouldn't have revealed this information if there wasn't some merit to it,_ she reasoned. Everything about his manner had been that of a schoolboy with a secret he had just ached to tell.

Crane wouldn't have told her about Penelope if he didn't have some first-hand knowledge about whatever it was she was doing. _And I couldn't go and ask Penelope about his claim because of our friendship and status as colleagues_.

It was for that reason and that reason alone that she chose to hand the information off to the two men watching her with unreadable expressions upon their faces.

"Penelope Young," she finally said with a heavy heart and mind. "It's Dr. Penelope Young that I think will be found as the one behind the experiment that killed Helena Fitzsimmons."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that the week has been good to you!


	7. Chapter 7

Pandemonium greeted her the moment she stepped out of the elevators into the Transport area. The half-hour she spent below talking with Nichols and Crane had brought an influx of inmates. The Intensive Treatment Lobby was a sea of activity. Asylum security and staff, as well as every doctor that could be called in, were swarming back and forth, trying to process the influx of prisoners before the officers on loan from the GCPD strong-armed them into one of the remaining holding cells with any standing room left.

A scuffle ensued as members from the Penguin's, Two-Face's and Joker's crews found themselves confined in the same cage. Taunts got hurled, threats got made, and soon the sounds of fists connecting with flesh echoed above the cacophony already echoing throughout the lobby.

Raya paid the events only scant attention as she made her way quickly down the middle of the walkway. Dozens of inmates, safely secured in their temporary cells, hooted and hollered at her as she walked past. Obscene jeers, crude suggestions, whistles, and catcalls trailed after her down the length of the long corridor. Some paced the limited space their cages gave them and grunted at her. _Like a bunch of lions in a zoo._

She had always preferred the more agile and graceful cheetah, herself.

One hulking convict, as ugly as he was tall, tried to grab for her before getting shoved into his cage. Raya evaded his grasp by stepping back before he could hook her with his thick fingers.

"Hey!" An officer, a rookie by the name of Barrow, barked. "Keep your hands off!"

"Piss off, fuzz," the goon growled as he licked his fleshy lips. "This don't concern ya."

He elbowed his way out of Barrow's clutches and stalked towards her. That the buffoon thought he was going to get his meaty paws on her had amusement singing through her veins.

He practically salivated the closer he got, much like that English Mastiff that Bruce had when he saw him coming towards him with a new chew toy in his hand.

And she was that chew toy he wanted to sink his teeth into.

 _As if_ , Raya thought as she again nimbly evaded his grasp.

"Aw, c'mon, baby," he crooned coarsely. "Give ole Hank a kiss."

Raya swallowed back the laugh that gurgled into her throat. Even his name made her think of him as a big ole slobbering dog.

Didn't help that he smelled like one, too.

"Now, honey," she replied with a bat of her eyelashes, "do you think I go around kissing every stranger I meet?"

"Aw, c'mon, baby." His smile became a leer. "Make an exception."

"Barrow! Get that filthy animal into his cell!" A curt voice ordered from behind her. "Smith, Levy, help him!"

Three Arkham guards and two more officers swarmed the snarling behemoth, dodging the massive fists he sent at them and hitting him with stun batons to get him into the cell with the rest of the monkeys howling at the top of their lungs.

Raya watched, her lip curled slightly in disdain for the extreme measures the guards and officers needed to use to gain Hank's compliance and restore some small semblance of order. It was necessary to use things like stun batons, though. Much like it was necessary for Batman to use extreme measures when dealing with men like the Joker.

"And what the Sam Hill are you doing here?" She heard when there was a momentary break in the screams and shouts. "I thought you had been ordered to stay at home?"

 _At home_ , Raya knew, was keyword for _Batcave_. Her nocturnal profession and association with Batman was no secret among her and her uncle. Unlike her cousin, who had hidden her decision to become Batgirl out of concern that it could harm his career should it ever be discovered, Raya had been honest about her decision to take up the mantle of Fenix.

 _He hasn't always been happy about my decision to put on a mask and tag along with Batman and Robin on their nightly forays into Gotham's seedy underbelly_ , she thought as she slowly turned to face her uncle. _But he has always accepted it is my decision to serve Gotham as one of her silent guardians_.

At some point in the chaos, his glasses had gotten splattered with what she assumed was spittle. Bits of paper could be seen clinging to bristles of the thick mustache still bearing a few hints of ginger. More could be seen in his now full head of white hair.

Further inspection revealed he was still wearing the rumpled white dress shirt with button down navy-blue vest and matching trousers and a striped red tie she had seen him in the night before.

 _Not that it is unusual to see him in the same suit for days on end_. James Gordon stood there with his hands planted on his hips, fire in his eyes, and clear disapproval on his craggy face. _Well, guess I am gonna_ _get lectured by Daddy Two_ …

She hid her grimace and tried to appease him by saying, "I was just leaving?"

Did not appease him, at all.

"You would not be _just leaving_ if you weren't here in the first place." He righted his glasses and stared at her through slightly narrowed eyes. "Now, why are you here and not where I know you're supposed to be?"

Most people tended to forget that James Gordon was not only the acting Police Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department but that he was also a world-class police detective in his own right. Her uncle matched the venerable Batman easily in terms of deductive reasoning. It was one of the many things the two men shared in common.

"Well, young lady? I'm waiting for an answer."

"Which part of the question do you want me to answer first?"

"Try answering what you're doing here, first."

"I paid a visit to Crane."

One bushy eyebrow shot up almost to hair hairline. "You did what?"

"I said I paid a visit to Crane," she repeated as she stepped into a small waiting room just before the exit. Before he could demand why she added, "I wanted to see if I could get the answer for how Helena Fitzsimmons got dosed with fear toxin from him directly."

"And that necessitated you coming out here to the asylum, why?" he demanded. "And without telling me, and I will assume your mentor that you were going to come out here?"

She stifled the urge to squirm and said, "Well, I kinda figured you already knew I was heading out to the Asylum by the time I started heading here."

"And why would I have known that?"

"I figured the Warden would have told you that he requested me to come out here."

"No, he didn't tell me that he requested you to come out here." He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a weary sigh. "Not that that is any surprise with a man like Sharp." Then he sent her a long, speculative look. "Why _did_ Sharp ask you come out to the Asylum?"

"Mostly because Crane chose tonight to have his current doctor formally request that I become a consultant on his case."

Her uncle merely sighed at hearing that.

"How many of these damned requests has he made at this point? Twelve? Thirteen?"

Her teeth flashed for a moment. "Sixteen, actually."

He shook his head, grunting softly.

"I applaud the doctor for his persistence. However…" He took off his glasses and rubbed them on the side of his pants to clean them. "I don't want you coming out here to see Crane alone again."

"I cannot ignore a request from Sharp," she said softly, reasonably. "I am still a member of Arkham's staff, and I have patients that I treat here. I have to answer his summons same as I have to answer yours."

Her uncle checked his glasses, saw they were nowhere near clean enough and took a minute to fish around in his pockets for a rag to wipe the lenses with.

"I know that you have patients and responsibilities here at the asylum. And I realize you cannot ignore when Sharp summons you." He slid the rag back into his pocket once he was through with it. "However, you are to stick to _your_ patients. Do you understand me?"

"But...

"You are to avoid Crane. And you can consider that an official order," he informed her in that tone he used whenever he was dead-set against her doing something. "We don't know what exactly Crane wants with you."

Raya harrumphed. "Well, if I had to hazard a guess…"

"And guesses are just that," he cut in. "We don't know anything for certain. And that makes a man like Crane, who is already an exceptionally creative and clever criminal, an even more dangerous foe."

"I know he is dangerous," she said. "I have…"

"And while I won't ask that you bring Batman or one of your three cohorts here to Arkham with you the next time that you come out here to treat patients..."

She smiled as his voice trailed off.

"You realize that that's _dad-lingo_ for, 'I am not gonna ask that you do this because I am just gonna ask the source himself', right?"

"It may sound like _dad-lingo_ to you..."

Another fight broke out in the hallway outside the waiting area, disrupting the rest of what he intended to say. They moved away from the door as Asylum security and uniformed officers swarmed in to bring the mob back into some semblance of order. Raya watched the commotion going on, feeling pinpricks of unease curl in her belly as well as tingle along the base of her spine.

"I see it is shaping up to become an interesting night."

"Two-Face has invaded City Hall and is holding the Mayor hostage leaving me to juggle SWAT teams, the media, the re-housing of Blackgate's prisoners, Joker, Crane, and Batman." Gordon shook his head. "Yeah, it's shaping up to become one helluva night."

Raya felt a small swirl of guilt at causing her uncle additional worry and stress. However, there hadn't been much choice. Crane wouldn't have revealed what he had and they wouldn't know what they did if she had not come here and spoken to him directly.

"I have a feeling the night is going to get worse," she said with another small sigh. "A whole lot worse, in fact."

"Why?"

"Well." Raya glanced at the burgeoning cells. "I believe that the Joker and Crane have something planned for this evening."

He grunted at that.

"The Joker always has something planned." His tone was dry as sand. "I'm more surprised when he _doesn't_."

"Yes, that's true," she agreed with a slight nod. "However, everything about tonight seems... _premeditated_."

"How so?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "There's just something about tonight that doesn't sit right with me. Like that fire at Blackgate. It was a bit too convenient. It comes on the heels of all these murders and Crane formally requesting me to become his doctor?" She shook her head. "No, something isn't right about it."

…

 _Could she be right_? Gordon looked down at the plethora of the Joker's crew housed in the holding cells. More than four dozen of his goons were waiting for transport to other parts of the Asylum. There was an amount that was equal to that which had already been processed and taken below. The sheer number of thugs transported here from Blackgate _could_ just be an odd coincidence.

 _Except_ …

"What are you thinking they could have planned?"

Raya shifted and studied the thugs howling and yipping like a pack of wild wolves through narrowed eyes.

"I'm thinking that the Joker and Crane have each been manipulating the chain of events that have occurred the past couple of weeks," she spoke slowly, thoughtfully. And all the more powerfully. "I'm thinking that the weekend bank robberies were the Joker's way of getting more members of his gang housed within Blackgate before whoever Crane has working for him helped set the fire that damaged that particular block of the prison."

"Which got those gang members moved here to Arkham."

"Precisely." In the shadows of the waiting room, her expression was grim. "And we would be none the wiser because fires happen."

"What's the reason, though?" Gordon questioned even as a knot formed in his belly. "What are they hoping to do with this?"

"I think Crane intends to stage an escape during the festivities."

"So, he's helping the Joker to stage whatever game in hopes that it will keep Batman busy and unable to stop him from making his grand exit."

"Yes."

 _God forbid if all the animals decide to work together_ , he thought as the animals locked inside Arkham's holding cells became even more rabid.

"Does Batman know what you think is the agenda for tonight?"

She made a face. "He wasn't exactly in the mood to hear theories."

"I can imagine he was quite unhappy to find you here."

She merely sighed. "If I hadn't met with Crane then we wouldn't know what we do now."

"Just because you have a point doesn't excuse that you came here without letting him or I know."

"Nightwing _was_ watching, you know."

Gordon ignored that bit of sarcasm and told her, "Go and find Batman. Or Nightwing. Tell them what that damn clown and Crane could have planned."

The ghost of a smile crept across her face.

"Is that _dad-lingo_ for 'I don't like it, but I'm sending you to handle things because I don't have any other choice'?"

He harrumphed. "That's _boss-lingo_ telling you to help Batman stop the Joker and Crane before they can unleash hell upon this city." Then he softened his tone. "And it's _dad-lingo_ for 'I trust you, but be careful.'"

She leaned up and brushed a kiss against his cheek. "I'll be careful," she assured him before she turned to exit the control room.

…

"My, my," Crane mused ten minutes after the security doors had closed behind Dr. Kean. "The lovely doctor is certainly proving far harder to woo than I had anticipated she would be."

Standing in front of the thick glass door keeping the once prolific and esteemed doctor locked in his cage, Nichols took in Crane's calm, slightly puzzled demeanor. It was a vast difference from the shrill madman of moments before.

Not for the first time, and he was certain it would not be the last, Nichols found himself chilled to the core of his being by the rapid-fire way in which _Jonathan Crane_ and _The Scarecrow —_ as he called his other side — could trade places. He doubted even the benevolent Dr. Jekyll could trade places with the diabolical Mr. Hyde in the seamless way Crane managed to switch with The Scarecrow.

The manic monster snarling threats and calling down the wrath of God had given way to the quiet, almost affable man Crane could be when his other side wasn't present. Crane stood in the middle of his glass prison cell, his long hands resting upon his bony hips, those tapered, almost elegant fingers gently tapping out a rhythm only he knew and understood.

Chills danced up and down Nichols spine as he stood there staring at Crane. The switch occurred in literally _seconds._ It happened so seamlessly, so fluidly that it was almost hard for Nichols to believe Crane possessed such a distinctive and unique secondary personality _._

 _If not for the fact that he suffers no memory impairment and is quite aware of what his other side is doing and thinking, I would believe him to have a true case of Dissociative Identity Disorder._

"A woman like Dr. Kean would never be impressed by an offering of answers alone," Crane said as he began to slowly walk the small bit of floor in front of his beloved bookshelves. "She requires a much more advanced level of romancing than I have shown her."

Nichols' belly curled into knots as he listened to Crane. Below the disgust and disdain simmered a rare burst of anger. And a dark desire to throw all caution to the wind and do whatever it took to stop this monster before he hurt any more innocent people. _Especially, Dr. Kean_ , he thought as he squared his shoulders and notched his chin.

"What, pray tell, does a man such as yourself know about wooing a woman like Dr. Kean?" He questioned in as firm a voice as he could muster. "You know nothing whatsoever about women or what it is that they want most in a potential romantic partner."

"I know plenty about what women most want in their romantic partners." Crane sent him an easy smile from over one shoulder. "Chocolate, flowers, promises most men never intend to keep."

"Dr. Kean does not strike me as the kind of woman who would be swayed by such things."

"And you know this how exactly, my dear Dr. Nichols?" Crane laughed softly as he slowly turned to face him. "It is not as if you prefer the company of women, much less live human beings."

Nichols felt his blood run cold as Crane's words washed over him. It was a clear warning. One he chose to ignore. For that moment, anyway.

"I know because I have actually spent time with the young woman and gotten to know her."

"What's this, Nichols?" Crane simpered. "Have you developed feelings for my intended?"

"Intended?" Nichols spluttered. "What do you mean intended?"

"I mean that I intend to extend an offer of marriage to the lovely doctor."

Nichols could only stand there and gape at the smiling man. _Is Crane serious_? _Does he intend to ask Dr. Kean to become his wife_? He couldn't be rightly sure. Nothing was ever for sure with a man as diabolical as Jonathan Crane.

"You're mad if you think a woman like Dr. Kean will agree to marry a man like you," he said sharply. "Especially after everything you have done to secure her as a consultant on your care."

"Oh, but a man like me has an innumerable amount of ways for convincing someone to do just what it is that I want."

The dark and wet undercurrent to Crane's voice told Nichols about how the monster always lurking just below the surface of Crane's consciousness was just waiting to make another appearance. It was not only a warning about his own precarious situation, but it indicated just how far the Scarecrow planned to go to convince Dr. Kean to accept Crane's _suit_.

He couldn't stand it. He absolutely could not stand there and allow somebody with such a kind and giving heart to become little more than Crane's version of Harley Quinn. _I must do something_ , he thought. _I must stop Crane._ Desperation streaked like lightning through his veins. _Somehow, some way, I must end this before he gets his hands upon the girl_.

The question was not nearly about _what_ he could do to stop Crane, it was also about _how_ he could it. Crane nor his more ruthless alter ego were simpletons. Outsmarting them would be tricky.

And very dangerous.

"I will go to the Warden if I have too, Crane," he finally warned. "I will tell him about everything — from getting the materials that you needed to make a new batch of that damn toxin of yours, acquiring research subjects for you to perform your tests upon, helping you to get your toxin out of Arkham, all of it."

Crane merely smiled.

"I notice how nowhere in your heroic little speech do you specify exactly _why_ you did those things for me, Doctor." He angled his head to the side and regarded Nichols with eyes that shined with an almost malevolent glee. "How do you think a fine and upstanding woman like Dr. Kean is going to feel when I tell her that her erstwhile protector has an erotic proclivity for sexual intercourse with corpses?"

Crane's lips stretched wide.

"And what," he added, "do you think that she will do when she learns that all those _unexplained_ deaths of the last six weeks were committed in order for you to have a fresh supply of bodies to pick and choose from?"

Nichols felt his world tilt; crumble. As much as he hated it, Crane still held all the most important cards. Revealing his sexual propensity as well as who was the cause of all the unexplained deaths lately was like a 7-card stud hand that had Kings and Queens showing on the table. Crane still held three facedown cards.

And one of those cards would decide whether the hand was a full boat or merely two-pair. Either one was damning. Defying Crane at the cost of having his biggest secret exposed would leave his reputation, as well as that of his family's, in absolute ruin. He couldn't chance it.

 _I'm sorry, Dr. Kean_ , he thought as he felt the invisible bars fall around him once more.

"You win, Crane," he said quietly. "You win. I will do whatever you ask of me."

"Oh, I knew you would after a little persuasion." Crane's cheerful tone grated upon Nichols steadily fraying nerves. "Now, release me from this infernal cell. I have special plans for this evening and need to don my vestments before my Mistress of Honor arrives."

With a heavy heart, Nichols unlocked the cell's thick, glass door. Then he stepped back and watched as the Grand Master of Fear stepped out into the dark corridor, free to rain terror upon anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that life has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, follow/favorite it!


	8. Chapter 8

The Extreme Isolation ward was oddly quiet despite the hive of activity occurring in the Intensive Treatment Lobby. Batman took comfort in the silence. He used it to go over everything he might find once he reached the lower Isolation area. Something told him it wouldn't be anything good. He moved towards the thick steel doors that framed the portal to what many felt was the most secure environment ever offered in Gotham's lengthy mental health history.

He, as well as Gordon, did not agree with that assessment.

Not when they were the ones constantly called upon to handle the breakouts and riots that ensued.

He made his way down a staircase. The corridors and hallways of Arkham Asylum were almost enough to confuse a man with his impeccable sense of direction. Even calling up a map of the building did not always help with locating where it was he needed to go. Occasionally, he passed isolated stretches of cells, homes to the more extreme population that frequented Arkham.

Furtive glances at the brass nameplates above the doors confirmed who several of the occupants had once been. A great many had taken their names from classic mythological figures and characters in fairytales: Mr. Toad, Medusa, Humpty Dumpty, Mad Hatter.

The strange and varied population who found themselves housed within the glass cages of the more extreme isolation area were there as part of the asylum's policy to sequester the more dangerous inmates from the rest of the population.

Many of those offenders had chosen to take on names as unique their proclivities: Calendar Man, Killer Moth, Firefly, Two-Face, Mr. Freeze, Riddler, and Penguin.

A few, like Ivy, Scarecrow and Mad Hatter were known to experiment upon staff and the other inmates. Sequestering them from the rest of the population was the only way the asylum could try to keep those people safe.

 _Not that it always worked_ , he thought as he passed through another portal. Arkham housed a few of those Alfred termed as his "repeat customers" in this part of the asylum.

A few of those offenders were the worst he ever met: Victor Zsasz, Flamingo, Professor Pyg, the Scarecrow.

 _The Joker_.

Out of all of those he caught and brought here to Arkham, it was the Joker he felt was the most dangerous. Far more cunning than Poison Ivy, much more capable at inciting panic and fear that the Scarecrow, and way better at playing mind games than Mad Hatter, the Joker was the epitome of what defined a sociopathic killer.

The convoluted mind behind that bloody grin belonged to the vilest man Batman had ever had the misfortune to know. There were others he had met during his tenure as Gotham's silent protector — Two-Face, Riddler, and even Penguin — who could be as volatile and unpredictable as the Joker. Yet none of them were able to view the suffering and anarchy they caused with the same cold, detached way that the self-professed Clown Prince of Crime did.

The man behind the bone-white face and twisted, mangled lips remained a mystery even after all these years. Most of the others he had brought to justice all had documented birth names, school records, hospital reports, and lengthy histories that explained who and what they were. Many of them had relatively normal lives before becoming criminals.

A few — like Harvey Dent — he had known personally, worked along, and considered almost a friend. Dent, tragically had gone from being Gotham's White Knight to a dark, convoluted criminal with the flick of a wrist and a splash of acid. His only predilection? A love for leaving things up to chance.

The same could not be said about the Joker. No one knew who the man behind the bone-white face was. There was no idea about where he was from, how he acquired his hideous scars, that pasty complexion or bright green hair and eyes. There were a few unsubstantiated facts and plenty in the way of speculation, but that was all there was.

His, and to a lesser extent, Gordon's belief was the man who had operated in Gotham under the name of the Red Hood — a moniker now owned by his middle son, Jason — was the man now known as the Joker. _It made sense_ , he mused as he turned another corner and started down a long, semi-dark corridor.

He, as well as Gordon, had believed the Red Hood had plunged to his death, swallowed up in the green sludge churning in one of the vats at Ace Chemicals. Now, though? Now, he found himself wondering if the Red Hood _might_ have survived his fall into that viper's pit and become the self-professed Clown Prince of Crime.

The chemical compounds of that toxic soup were known to cause extreme depigmentation such as the Joker possessed. Not that it much mattered whether the Joker and Red Hood were the same. No one knew whose face had been behind that crimson one left floating in the vat's bubbling ooze. _And speaking of the devil_ , he thought as he turned a corner.

The Joker's cell was devoid of any of the modern amenities and luxuries that were in some of the other chambers. There was a metal cot, a table, and the standard sink-and-toilet combination. The walls were made from the same thick, bulletproof glass that the Scarecrow's were. Everything inside the cell was either bolted to the floor or secured to the wall. There were no bars, and no privacy, either. Not for a man as dangerous as the Joker.

There were no shelves with books, magazines or newspapers. There was no TV or board games with which the Joker could pass the time. Not that he seemed to need anything to entertain himself with. The hundreds of atrocities the man had committed kept him plenty entertained it seemed.

As he approached the cell, he noticed how the Joker was sitting cross-legged on the floor, seemingly deep in thought, and completely unaware of his approach. _That's never a good sign_ , he thought, brow puckering beneath his cowl as he paused outside the cell. Much like the Scarecrow, Black Mask, Hugo Strange and the Penguin, the Joker had only one target in mind, one person that he wanted to ultimately destroy: Batman.

He had robbed banks, stole weapons caches from Black Mask and Penguin, held public figures for ransom, and auctioned off dates with Harley Quinn all to finance his goal of bringing Batman down to his level. When all that failed he went after the people who mattered most to him: Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, Selina, Gordon and Raya. None of the Joker's antics managed to bring about the result he desired.

Still, he persisted, coming up with even grander schemes to achieve his end goal of breaking Batman. The last time he escaped, he killed the newly elected Mayor and half his cabinet by sending them Joker playing cards laced with his infamous "laughing gas." _Who knows what he might plan to do the next time he gets out of here._..

"Joker."

A frown creased his brow when the Joker didn't even bother to look up from the game of thumb wars he was playing with himself.

"Joker?" He moved closer to the cell. "What is it that you and the Scarecrow have planned for this evening?"

The Joker finally glanced up at him. Nothing about his appearance seemed out of the ordinary. The same maniacal glee swirled in that verdant gaze, and shined upon that bone-white face. However, something about the Joker's manner seemed... _off_.

There was a suspicious lack of affect in one who loved to play the sort of games with him that the Joker did. A trickle of alarm shot through him, but he pushed it aside and focused on the figure in front of him.

"Joker," he said again. "What is it that you and Scarecrow have planned?"

"Why, hello, Bats," Joker purred, emphasizing each syllable. "And what brings you to my sweet little ha-ha-hacienda?"

He ignored the Joker's taunting, leering grin.

"What is it you and Scarecrow are planning for this evening?"

"Oh, nothing much," came his ubiquitous reply. "Hundreds dying in excruciating pain and fear, their meaningless lives brought to a horrifying and glorious conclusion." His bony shoulders lifted into a shrug. "The usual really."

"No, there's more to it than that." There was always more to whatever the Joker planned. He never did things simply. It would be considered far too boring and predictable for a man like him. "I know you and Crane have something in mind. Now, what is it?" The Joker resumed his game of thumb wars. "Joker!"

Joker looked up, his expression bemused and just a slight bit coy. "What is it?"

"What do you and Crane have planned?"

"How do you keep a secret from the World's Greatest Detective?" Warning bells started erupting in the back of his head. Something was wrong. Joker wasn't acting like his usual self. It was almost as if his entire performance had been carefully, meticulously... _staged_. "Do you know, Bats? No?" Joker's mangled lips spread into a sick, crimson grin. "Why, you stick it right under his long pointy nose, and you wait."

A chill swept through Batman as the Joker looked back down.

"What is it that you and the Scarecrow have planned?" No reply. "What do you have planned?"

Joker giggled as he hooked his one thumb with the other.

"Plans, plans, plans. Everyone has a plan."

"Yes," Batman snapped. "Now, tell me... what do you and Scarecrow have planned?"

This time the Joker did not look up, but merely said, "Well, _my_ plan is quite simple really: spring the madman from the asylum and sit back to watch the fun!"

"Madman?" Batman felt his gut tighten. "What madman?"

This time the reply was not the one he wanted.

"Flutter, flutter, my little Bat," Joker crooned. "Oh, but I wonder just where you're at..."

 _Dammit_! Batman thought as the Joker trailed off. _I should have expected something like this_. He had suspected more was going on here at the asylum than met the eye.

Raya confirmed one part when she revealed Dr. Young was behind the failed experiments. However, the sudden surge of bank robberies and subsequent fire at Blackgate all suggested the Joker was about to stage another of his grand escapes.

He should have realized this was all a setup.

Where did Crane factor in, though? He wondered as he reached for the door below the security panel. Hacking it was the only way to enter the Joker's cell and check whether the Clown Prince was inside or not. He grasped the metal door, was about to tear it open, but a puff of smoke shot out and hit him square in the face.

He breathed the vaporous mist in before he had a chance to even register it, much less turn his head away. He gagged as the toxic fumes rushed down his throat and entered his bloodstream. The effect of the toxin was instant, pummeling his mind and filling it with memories...

... _a dozen round spheres spilled past young Bruce's face, rained down his chest, stomach, and legs. They sounded like ice landing in the bottom of an empty glass as they bounced, once, upon the bloodstained pavement. He watched them, same as young Bruce, horribly transfixed as a few rolled to a stop in the crimson puddle already forming beneath Mother and Father's pale, lifeless bodies_...

There was a high-pitched giggle followed by the Scarecrow's simpering voice asking, "How many bones have you broken? How many lives have you destroyed in pursuit of what you call justice? You are the product of everything you fear; Violence, Darkness, Helplessness... All that remains is for you to accept the truth."

"No!"

Was that his voice, yelling like that? He shook his head and reached out to grab hold of the shadowy figure lurking at the edge of his visual field. Another burst of smoke hit him in the face. The reaction was instant, the poison intermingling with the other dose of toxin he already had received.

His brain exploded as every fear he ever had, every nightmare that ever woke him, every horrible moment he endured over the course of his career, flooded into him. All the demons he fought, that he only barely held at bay, mixed with all the ghosts and traumas he never healed from. They slammed into him one after another. A kaleidoscope of dark, terrible memories. A collage of sights, scents and sounds. A merry-go-round of pain.

All for him…

... _It was hardly a whisper. He thought he imagined it until he heard it again. "Bruce."_

 _"Father?"_

 _"Co-come here, son."_

 _On legs that felt like blocks of ice, he crept over to where his father lay, unmoving on the pavement._

 _"Father?" He stared down into Father's ashen face. "Father?"_

 _"Do-don't be afraid." Father struggled to give him a reassuring smile. "I-it's gonna be okay, son. I pro-promise. It's gonna be okay."_

 _Young Bruce knew it was as much a lie as older Bruce did. They knew Father was dying. They could see him fading right before their very eyes. There was a wet, rasping sound. Father's pupils slowly fixed and dilated. It was like someone turned the lights off inside of him. Then his body went limp. He thought he heard his father breathe out his name one last time._

 _Then he was gone._

 _Same as Mother was gone..._

He released Crane and staggered back, his hands clutching his head as he bit back the scream that wanted to erupt from his throat. His breath came in sharp, staccato rasps that grated on his already frayed nerves.

"Is your mind playing tricks on you..." Scarecrow simpered. "Or am I?"

Batman shook his head. He had to make the visions go away. He had to clear his head so he could stop Scarecrow.

"Shh..." Scarecrow crooned as he leaned in. "It's okay to be afraid."

He tried to again reach for Scarecrow, but he turned to flee down the passageway before he could close his hand around his throat. He desperately wanted to give chase, but it felt like he was being held in place by invisible hands.

"Poor Batman… " Scarecrow called from the end of the corridor. "You're just as crazy as the rest of us. You just can't admit it."

He let out a tiny hiss of sound, his only physical manifestation of the pain tearing its way through his mind. Tentacles banded about him and held tight. He struggled to free himself from their vice-like grip.

"Batman!" He heard through the fog clouding his mind. "Batman, can you hear me?"

Something pierced his bicep, but he wasn't sure if that was the toxin convincing him of what he felt or reality. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you, imp." His lips crept up a fraction of an inch as he indicated the syringes she held in her right hand. "Do you always come with antidotes in hand?"

"I tend to recall some masked man ordering me to keep one or two vials of antidotes in my purse." Her lips curved. "Think he said that one can never know when they will get dosed by either the Joker or Scarecrow."

"I thought I told you to return to the Cave and run those samples?"

"You did tell me to return to the Cave," she confirmed with a slight nod. "And I was planning on running the samples once I got there…"

"But?"

He had learned long ago that when it came to Raya and her subterfuges that there was always a _but_ involved.

"I ran into Uncle Jim on my way out."

"And?" He sent her a pointed look. "He prevented you from leaving the asylum?"

"Well, no, but we did come to a few realizations as we were talking."

He tamped down his frustration. For the most part.

"Get on with it, imp."

She harrumphed. "Uncle Jim decided I needed to come down here and help."

"Why did you think I needed help?"

That they had been right, and he did need help galled him.

"We knew you'd get in trouble on your own."

Batman sighed.

"Now is not the right time for joking around,."

Her hand settled against his cheek. He absorbed the warmth of her touch much like a starving dog.

"You need me to badger you at this moment," she said softly. "It will help you power through the last lingering bit of the toxin."

Logic like that was hard to refute.

"Is that why Gordon sent you down here? To badger me?"

One dark arched.

"That's not reason enough?"

"No."

She harrumphed again, but begrudgingly admitted, "You're right. He didn't send me down here just to badger you."

"Why then? And don't prevaricate about the answer."

She made a face. "He sent me to tell you that Crane and Joker are working together."

"And?"

"And ordered me to help you stop them from doing whatever it is that they have planned."

Gordon sending Raya to help him was not all that surprising. He would have sent Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin or even Red Hood had they been the ones standing in front of him. It was all-hands-on-deck when it came to the Joker.

"Did you hear what I said?"

There was a vague note of impatience tingeing her tone. He recognized it as the one he used whenever he was annoyed with her. _Alfred would tell me it is my just dessert_ , he thought as he subtly winced.

"I already suspected that Scarecrow and Joker were working together." He indicated the non-responsive Joker behind him. "I was about to check that was Joker when I was sprayed with fear gas."

"I should have ordered Dr. Nichols to come with me," she grumbled. "Or at least knocked him out and tossed him a cell next to Crane."

"Nichols?" He leaned back to look at her, surprised despite himself. "Albus Nichols is the one aiding Crane?"

"Not willingly, but yes."

"I have known Nichols for at least ten years," he said slowly. "I would never believe him capable, much less willing to help a man like Crane."

"Well." Raya heaved a sigh. "I doubt you suspected Nichols has a bit of a fetish…" She grimaced. "For dead bodies."

Batman swallowed his shock along with revulsion.

"And that is what Crane is using to manipulate him."

"Yes."

The pieces all started to tumble into place then. He knew now how Crane was not only getting his shipments in and out of Arkham, but who was procuring the materials he needed to make his fear toxin. Nichols was also likely behind how the Joker got out of his cell, as well.

 _That could also explain the litany of dead bodies we found_ , he realized. He looked at Raya.

"Go to your office and see if you can hack into the security footage."

"What am I looking for?"

"When and where the Joker was let out of his cell. And," he rasped, "by who."

"I can do that." He made to leave, but her next question stopped him. "Do you want me to call the Winged Blunder for backup?"

"You will anyway." He turned from her. "Stay in your office until he gets here."

Her snort followed him down the passageway.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that this finds you well!


	9. Chapter 9

Raya made her way from the Extreme Isolation ward after Batman disappeared through a portal at the opposite end of the room. Part of her wondered if she shouldn't follow after him. Two doses of fear gas was a lot for even a man of his indomitable will.

Another part of her, the one concerned with what the parental repercussions would be for disobeying, warned her the consequences wouldn't be particularly enjoyable.

She harrumphed as she paused in front of the huge steel doors to let the security scanner run over her.

 _Just gotta hope that he doesn't encounter Scarecrow and get another dose of his toxin_ …

The door slid open with barely a sound. She made her way through the opening and quickly navigated the corridors to the elevator that would take her back up to the Secure Transit Area. She was reaching for the button to call the elevator when the steel doors opened out of nowhere.

 _What the_ …? She looked up just as a figure appeared in the opening. The frayed and pieced together brown clothing and burlap gas mask caused her heart to turn over. _Crane?_ A frown puckered her brow. _But… how? He ran the opposite way down the corridor._

Didn't he?

"Good evening, my dear."

Her body went taut as razor wire as his voice washed over her. Part of her hoped Batman would drop down on him. The other part of her knew he wouldn't be. No, Batman had gone in the direction they assumed Crane had gone. She was alone with the madman.

And didn't have another vial of antidote on hand for if she got a dose of his toxin.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why, I was waiting for you, of course." His tone was so boyishly cheerful that it almost made her doubt that it was the Scarecrow standing before her. Almost. Then he scuttled closer to her and whispered, "I have something I want to show you," in a near conspiratorial tone that shot alarm bells up and down her spine.

"Oh?" She angled her head to look at him, riddled with suspicion and distrust, and not bothering to try to hide it. "And what is it that you want to show me?"

He giggled, more a high-pitched cackle than an actual laugh, and reached for her with the hand not covered by that Freddy Krueger-like glove. Raya took a step back and flashed him a warning look.

That gaping maw seemed to stretch wider.

For a moment, she wondered if he managed to dose her. No, she would know if she was exposed to his toxin. That Crane hadn't immediately injected her with a dose of that glowing yellow substance was completely out of character. She found herself wondering _why_ _. What is he up too?_

"Why, I want to show you the truly fascinating power of _fear._ "

Raya didn't have time to react. A small puff of gas shot from his sleeve and hit her in the face. The back of her throat began to burn, and she choked on her gasp. Her eyes watered and she fingered the moisture away before looking up as…

 _Roses rained down upon her mother as she fell to the floor. One sanguineous bloom landed in the pool forming beneath her. Her mother crawled towards the staircase, looking for the sanctity of the upstairs and her rooms in the East Wing..._

She stifled a small shriek. She tried to move out of Crane's reach, but her body was frozen, rooted to the spot upon which she stood. It was like invisible hands held her immobile, powerless as the Grand Manipulator of Fear slid closer. He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him. Only...

 _The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to sweep her dark curls out of her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she repressed the shudder that his touch elicited. He reached out, and those slender fingers brushed her cheek._

 _She went cold to the marrow._

 _"Well, Princess?" Her father asked in that low, dark purr. "Don't you have an answer for daddy?"_

…

"Can't you feel it?" Crane crooned. "Can't you feel as it courses through your bloodstream? Flows along every neural synapse? Can't you feel the acceleration of your heart and respiratory rate, the way that every muscle has tensed in preparation for the body's natural desire to flee from a potential threat?"

Gently, almost reverently, he swept his thumb over her flesh. It was the first time he'd ever been allowed to reach out and physically touch the skin he only had been able to dream about. It was as soft and smooth as he imagined. A spark snapped to life inside him, warm and bright.

The Scarecrow hissed and scurried to the deepest, darkest shadows of his mind. He reveled in the sensations, in the feelings filling him.

He felt… _alive_.

Cold where the air from the ventilation system whisked over his skin. Hot in the belly where he heard things like desire first formed.

"I have longed for this moment," he murmured in an almost reverent tone. "Patiently waited for it to happen." He skimmed his fingers across her cheek, sunk them into the springy curls that defied her every attempt to tame them. "To be able to speak to you, touch you without that winged rodent or a member of Arkham staff interrupting us."

"I cannot imagine there being anything that you need to say to me that you could not say in front of the staff or Batman."

"Oh, but there is." His voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper. "Considering how you have been averse to all of my other attempts at wooing you..."

Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. "And does your version of _wooing_ involve dosing me with your damn fear gas?" She hissed. "Because it definitely isn't one of mine."

"Come now, m'dear," he gently chided. "It is but a small, concentrated dose designed to simulate the physiological manifestation of fear." Only internally did he qualify that there was only enough of the chemicals compound in the dose to show her the true power found in manipulating and controlling fear. He would never administer a full dose of his serum to her. "It was the same dosage I gave you in our encounter at the Halloween Carnival last year."

"How?" she asked in a strangled voice. "How did you figure out I am Fenix?"

Crane pulled off his mask and stared at her adoringly.

"Why, who else could so splendidly merge two vastly different personalities into one person the same as I have done?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, that doesn't explain how you were able to figure out I am Fenix."

"Why, my dear, you spelled it out in the article you sent me to peer review."

"Article?" She frowned. "What article? I didn't send you an article to review."

He quoted now. "'Someone who takes on a dual identity through the adoption of a public and private persona finds themselves in an intricate position. The very nature of the vigilante is to avoid detection and they will do so at almost any cost. But they risk having the masked persona become their true persona while the non-dominant personality becomes the mask which they present to the world.'"

 _It was almost_ , he thought, _hypnotic_. The way that she looked at him, fully, directly, deeply. As if he was more than a monster or common criminal. Her direct manner, her vast knowledge of psychological disorders and her keen intellect were what had intrigued him. _Initially_.

He soon found himself bewitched by her subtle elegance, quiet pride and cool dignity. The dim lighting overhead played over her porcelain skin and reflected in her eyes like gilt circling a perfect emerald.

It had been quite a surprise to discover they had many things in common. It went beyond the fact that they were well-respected doctors in the field of psychology. He had discovered there were several books they enjoyed, the music they both appreciated, movies that were favorites. He had spent a considerable amount of time learning everything he could about her.

"What do you want, Crane?"

"What do I want?" He leaned in close and breathed in the subtle smell of jasmine and orchids that clung to her skin. It was a tantalizing and elegant scent. "I want to offer you a most illustrious position. One suited to a woman of your class and breeding."

"I have already told you that I will not take over as your doctor."

"I do not desire your services as my doctor, m'dear," he confided with a conspiratorial wink. "I never did."

"What is it that you want then?" Confusion rippled in every syllable. "What have all the months of requests been about if not to have me become your doctor?"

"Why, don't you know?" He giggled, enjoying himself immensely. "Haven't you guessed what my intentions are?"

"No." She shook her head. "I haven't. Why don't you tell me?"

"I want you to become my Mistress of Fear," he cooed. "I want you to stand at my side as we overtake Gotham and show it that at the end of fear… is _oblivion_."

…

Raya thought she misheard him. Then his words sunk through the toxic fog coating her mind and she prayed she was wrong. She was mistaken. This was nothing but a hallucinogenic reaction to the toxin he sprayed in her face. That was all. _There's no way he just suggested that I help him terrorize Gotham._

A small voice in the back of her head told her that was exactly what he wanted her to do. It would be the ultimate revenge upon Batman. _Same as the Joker murdering Jason was his penultimate act to drive Batman to do the unthinkable_. Well, it would never happen. She wouldn't betray herself, her family or the city of Gotham.

She'd see herself locked away on one of the secluded islands in the middle of the North China Sea, first.

"Never," she whispered in a low, emotionally charged tone. "I will _never_ become your Mistress of Fear." Her voice gained strength as anger choked the fear. "Do you hear me? I will _never_ become your Mistress. And I most certainly will _never_ help you to drown this city in your toxin."

"Oh, but I disagree, m'dear." He gave her a boyish smile. "You will agree to become my Mistress of Fear and help me show this pathetic city what it really fears in the end: Batman."

His cool assurance that he would bend her to his will and use her to break the people of this city ignited a fury deep inside her. She fanned the flames of her fury, used it to hammer back the demons assaulting her.

"I don't care that you disagree," she gritted. "I promise you that neither one will ever happen."

Crane's smile deepened into something that was both sly and child-like. His long fingers slid around to her chin, cupped it.

"We shall see, now won't we?"

"Hey!" A familiar voice growled from the portal behind them. "Get your hands off her!"

Raya yanked her chin free and turned her head to look at the man standing in the portal. Relief smothered the last bit of panic cruising along her nerve-endings as she caught her reflection in the red helmet he wore.

She didn't know why he was there, but she was beyond thrilled to see him. Not that his appearance mattered much to Crane. Three of Joker's crew emerged from the elevator that Crane exited moments before.

"Get him!" Crane commanded. "Don't let him near me or my beloved!"

Two of the goons charged at the Red Hood. They were quickly dispatched with well-timed kicks and fists. The third tried to sneak up behind Hood, but a black figure swooped out of the shadows and slammed into the henchman, dragging him across the concrete floor before flipping him face-first into the wall.

Batman then turned to face Crane, the lower half of his face hard as stone and his eyes promising retribution.

…

His indulgence cost him.

Dearly.

The time he spent savoring touching his beloved would have been better served in escorting her from the asylum before Batman and his brat could show up to stop him. No matter. He could regain control of the situation still. He would simply use his beloved as an insurance policy. Negotiate his exit. Threaten to give her another concentrated dose of the gas if they—

 _No_.

He was not about to treat hisbeloved as the clown treated that idiotic Quinn woman. There was no choice but to run. He and his intended would be together soon enough. He took one of her trembling hands in his, sketched her a courtly bow, and smiled his most charming smile.

"I'm afraid I must depart." He lifted her hand and slowly, deliberately, brushed her knuckles with his lips. "It has, indeed, been a pleasure."

With a final, taunting smile at his nemesis, he nimbly leaped into the elevator and punched the down button. His shrill laugh echoed throughout the chamber long after he disappeared.

…

The second the Scarecrow disappeared, Red Hood rushed forward, grabbing Raya in a hard embrace and demanding, "Are you okay?"

"Ye-yes." She burrowed against him and banded her arms around his waist. "I'm fine."

Hollow-eyed, pale and far from fine was Batman's overall assessment. He didn't say that, though. Decided it was the last thing she needed him to tell her. _Even though it would be exactly what she deserves for having badgered me._

"You're safe now," he told her. "It's over."

Her head shifted, her eyes lifted to his. They were hazy, the pupils dilated. Yet beneath it, that fire burned. _Good girl_ , he commended silently. _Fight it. Just like you did when you were fourteen._

"Go," her voice was thin and reedy. "You cannot let him escape the asylum."

"Dammit, Kit..."

" _Go_!"

There was a vague note of hysteria in her voice; upon her face. He ached for what he knew she was going through. He'd trade his vast wealth to trade places with her. To take her fear from her. He couldn't do that, however. He could only remind her again of the one lesson they all lived by.

"Rise, imp."

"I'll handle the Scarecrow," he told Red Hood. "You get her back to the cave and have Alfred give her a dose of antidote." He turned to leave but paused long enough to say, "And stay with her."

He thought Red Hood was going to object, to protest. He knew how badly he wanted to hunt down the Scarecrow and beat him senseless. He wanted to do the same thing. His son surprised him, however, by swinging Raya up into his arms. Then he looked at him and gritted, "Just make sure ya get a few punches in for me when ya catch up with the bastard."

He turned and made his way over to the second elevator. Batman watched for a brief second before he turned to give chase to the grand manipulator of fear...

…

The sewers running beneath the Intensive Treatment Building. They were his only option for escape. If he could make it to the sewers, avoiding that walking series of crocodile shoes and handbags, he would be free. He would…

"Stop, Scarecrow!"

 _Damn_ , he fumed as he slowly turned towards his adversary. Batman was poised in the opening of a ventilation grate above him. _Of course_ , he thought petulantly. _He would think to use the ventilation system to cut the lead I had_.

No matter.

He had one trick still left up his sleeve. A plan B created by the Joker for just this sort of scenario. He just needed to get Batman close enough before he enacted it.

"My, but you are persistent." He folded his hands at his waist. "Makes me wonder what it will take to finally get rid of you."

"You're done, Scarecrow," Batman rasped. "It's over. Turn yourself in."

He laughed softly.

"My, dear, delusional man," he simpered. "I have absolutely no intention of giving myself up."

"You won't escape the island." Batman prowled towards him. "You have nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide."

"Oh, but I disagree." He unfolded his hands, revealing a remote-control device. "See, did you really think that I didn't have every outcome planned for?"

"You'll be crushed by the falling debris, too."

He stepped back. "That will not happen," he assured his nemesis as he punched a button. "Heads up!" He crowed as a series of explosions went off above them.

Rocks and other debris rained down, cutting off the dark figure racing towards him. Scarecrow cackled and punched more buttons on the remote before tossing it aside. More explosions sounded asdust and smoke filled the tunnel.

"Toodles, Batman!" He called right before he dove into the fast-flowing water below.

…

Gordon lifted his glasses and wiped a film of sweat and soot from his cheeks and forehead. He leaned against the side of a fire truck, watching as the firefighters retracted their hoses and locked down the operation. The sun edged up over the horizon, its rays gleaming, rosy red on the side of the still smoking Intensive Treatment building.

Curls of smoke trailed sleepily towards the starless sky. It was how he was feeling at that moment. He had not seen his niece since sending her below to help Batman stop Crane and the Joker.

"Commissioner?" The fire chief rounded the nose of the truck and was pulling off his hard hat and goggles. "Fire's out. The place isn't a total loss, but it is gonna need a lot of repairs before inmates can be housed there again."

Gordon nodded his agreement of that assessment. "Thank you, Connors."

"Damn shame if you ask me." The fire chief shook his head. "What won't these monsters do just to make an escape from the asylum?"

"I don't know," Gordon said with a sigh. "I just don't know."

Connors sketched a salute before he moved off to where his men were waiting.

"Jim."

The voice came from so close by, he nearly jumped three feet out of his skin. Batman, his black suit the worse for wear, hunkered in the rear of the fire truck between two large equipment lockers. Gordon grunted.

"Had a feeling I'd be seeing you before this night was officially through."

Amazingly, Batman's teeth flashed white in his grim coated face. "Never disappoint, do I?"

"No," Gordon replied with a smile of his own. "You never disappoint me." He gestured towards the building. "Is she..."

"She's fine, Jim. I sent her home with Red Hood."

Gordon breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't much trust the Red Hood, but he knew the boy wouldn't allow any harm to come to his girl. He shifted to look more fully at the dark figure beside him.

"Can you explain to me just what in the hell happened here?" He waved a hand at the still smoking building. "Blowing up the Intensive Treatment building? Setting off bombs all around the island. Has Crane lost what little of his damned mind he has?"

"This was the work of the Joker," Batman replied in a grave tone. "He gave Crane the remote-control device to set off the bombs. It was their backup plan."

"So, our girl was right, and they were working together."

"It seems they have been working together for a while."

"God forbid if the rest of 'em decide to work together."

"The Joker and Scarecrow working together is bad enough."

Gordon harrumphed. "Imagine if they all decide to team up against us."

The outcome was too terrible to even imagine.

"We won't let that happen." Batman jerked a thumb towards where Bullock was standing by a squad car. "Your rides waiting."

"What about you?"

He knew even as he asked that it was pointless.

Batman was already gone.

"Good thing I'm used to him doing that."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all, and goodbye! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited or commented on this story. Your support has been dearly appreciated!


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